PASSIONATE HEARTS An Ellora's Cave Publication, January 2004 Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. PO Box 787 Hudson, OH 44236...
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PASSIONATE HEARTS An Ellora's Cave Publication, January 2004 Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. PO Box 787 Hudson, OH 44236-0787 ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-761-1 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML CANDY STORE © 2003 BELLA ANDRE A VALENTINE’S BRIDE © 2003 DOREEN DESALVO VALENTINE WISHES© 2003 MLYN HURN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. CANDY STORE, edited by Raelene Gorlinsky A VALENTINE’S BRIDE, edited by Kari Berton VALENTINE WISHES, edited by Kari Berton Cover art by Scott Carpenter.
PASSIONATE HEARTS Candy Store By Bella Andre
A Valentine’s Bride By Doreen DeSalvo
Valentine Wishes By Mlyn Hurn
CANDY STORE Bella Andre
Candy Store
Chapter One The orgasmic moans coming from behind Callie were too loud and impassioned for her to ignore any longer. “Ooohh, I just died and went to heaven,” exclaimed a middle-aged woman as she popped another truffle into her mouth. The teenager next to her said, “Stop hogging them all, mom,” and reached across her mother to grab several treats off the tray the waiter was holding. Callie smiled, pleased that everyone was enjoying the truffles so much, but then her smile turned into a frown as she remembered her accountant’s words. Your business better start picking up, and fast, or you’re going to have to shut down Callie’s Candies. Callie slumped down in her seat with a loud sigh. Her store wasn’t bringing in enough money to stay afloat. Even though everyone who had ever tasted one of her confections seemed to love them, Callie still wasn’t able to make ends meet. Her accountant had arranged for her to meet with a renowned candy company consultant on Monday, but right now Callie wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful about it. As soon as anyone started talking about marketing and promotion, Callie always started daydreaming about new candy creations, no matter how hard she tried to stay focused on business plans. She looked around the indoor garden at the two hundred people who were munching on her truffles with looks of utter rapture on their faces and had to blink quickly to fight back a sudden onslaught of tears. How could she give up on Callie’s Candies? Making people happy was worth so much more to her than making money, she thought as she sniffled and opened her little beaded purse to look for a tissue. The woman behind her licked bittersweet chocolate dust off of her fingers. “Wait a minute, honey. I’ve got a tissue here in my purse for you. I always cry at weddings myself. Everything about them is so perfect and beautiful, isn’t it?” Callie forced herself to nod and then accepted the tissue from the woman. Ignoring the chocolate smear across it from the woman’s fingers, Callie blew her nose. She liked weddings. Really she did. Especially since the happy couple had met in her store last Valentine’s Day. Callie tucked the used tissue into her purse, trying hard to clear her mind. Right now she didn’t want to think about Valentine’s Day. She didn’t want to think about weddings. And she sure as heck didn’t want to think about love. She snorted at the thought of love—didn’t one need a boyfriend or even, say, a date first?— and the woman next to her scooted a little farther away. Callie felt tears well up in her eyes again. Even a middle-aged stranger thought she was weird and wanted to get away from her. Callie reached for the used tissue and blew again. The first few chords of the wedding march rang out and the guests leapt to their feet. Callie noted that everyone was either still chewing and swallowing or licking chocolate off of their fingers as they waited for the bride to appear. She bit back a slightly hysterical laugh. At least there is one thing about me that people love, she thought as the radiant bride appeared from an arbor of white lattice and pink roses. 5
Bella Andre
Too bad she couldn’t barter chocolate truffles for love.
***** Tobey stood next to the priest and tried not to sway. Planting his feet in a wide stance he clasped his hands behind his back and focused his eyes on the woman in white coming towards him. Ruthless memories assaulted him. What woman in her right mind would want to marry you? Candy is for children and I want a man. Everything blurred and Tobey had to close his eyes to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. The priest leaned towards him. “This is a wedding, not a wake, son.” Tobey forced a grin even though he thought his face might crack with the strain just as James, Tobey’s best friend since the first grade, turned and gave him a thumb’s up. God, how he hated weddings. After his one pathetic attempt at holy matrimony, which had ended before “I do” was done, Tobey had vowed never to set foot within a mile of a wedding ever again. And now, here he was, the best man. He knew he was a sucker, but when push came to shove he couldn’t let James down. Missing his best friend’s wedding would have been the coward’s way out. Tobey was going to look his demons in the eye, support his friend on the happiest day of his life, and then get the fuck out. Were it not for several quick swigs of tequila he wouldn’t have made it this far. And Tobey knew damn well that several more shots would be necessaryto help him get through the reception. It was the only way. Jane’s father kissed her on the cheek and handed the bride over to the groom. Tobey saw the love flowing between them and felt nothing but emptiness inside him. The memory tackled him again. The Candy King? Why can’t you be more like your brother? Tobey tried to shake the shrill voice of his faithless bitch of an ex-fiancée out of his head to focus on the ceremony that had just begun. He knew she was right, though, and that was the worst thing of all. So what if he loved what he did and was good at it? What did it matter if he was a connoisseur of candy? Who cared if he knew how to sell it, lots of it, for any company that hired him? His skills were the skills of a child. It was time to grow up. In a daze of self-loathing, Tobey watched James and Jane exchange rings. His best friend leaned in to kiss his new wife, but all Tobey could see was the face of his ex-fiancée, screwed up in rage at him. You’ve ruined my life! I could have married someone important. Someone successful. Don’t ever come near me again. In his mind’s eye Tobey could still see the shock on the faces of their guests. He could still see the hatred in Gina’s eyes. But worst of all, he could see how everyone agreed with her choice. The sound of applause pulled him from his memories and he reached out his arm to the Maid of Honor. He just needed to make it down the aisle to the bartender and then everything would be all right.
***** 6
Candy Store
Callie pushed the salmon around on her plate. It was delicious, but she wasn’t the least bit hungry. Her lack of appetite may have had something to do with all of the newlyweds at her table. As far as she could tell there wasn’t another singleton around for miles. If she had to hear one more word about engagement rings and honeymoon trips, she was going to puke. Abruptly, she pushed her chair back and made a beeline for the bar. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood with his back to her. Callie hadn’t paid much attention to the wedding ceremony, but she couldn’t help but notice the striking good looks of the best man. He had looked oddly grim throughout the ceremony, but at one point when he had grinned at the groom, it was as if the sun had come out from the clouds to pour down over everyone. Callie cursed her unfortunate weakness for tall, dark, and handsome. Her friends liked to joke that the big brutes she always fell for were the perfect counterpart to her petite blonde curves. But it wasn’t really all that funny. The truth was that if the man came with a harsh past and an emptiness in his soul, she was metal to his magnet. Which may have had something to do with her still being single, she mused unhappily. If she could only find a nice, simple, happy man—yes, short, soft, and pale would have to suffice—everything would be perfect. Oh yeah, except for the fact that she was going to have to close her store if she didn’t start making a profit. Callie fell even deeper into her misery as she made her way past the last of the tables. The best man ran a large hand through his hair and said something in a low voice to the bartender. The sound of his voice sent goose bumps running up her bare arms. I wonder which tall, gorgeous, svelte woman he’s married to? she thought, feeling more than a tad snarky. Callie knew she was being bad, but for once she didn’t care. Not only was she totally unwedded and alone, but she was about to be out of a job too. Pretty soon, instead of spending her days making candy—the one thing she loved most in the world—she was going to be sitting behind a desk in an office typing memos for some executive, or reeking of grease and saying, “Would you like onions with that?” Callie shuddered. Coming shoulder to shoulder with Mr. Handsome and Tortured, she said to the bartender, “Give me something. Anything. Just make it strong.” She had never had more than a sip of wine before—alcohol wasn’t her thing, not when she could do such amazing things with sugar and chocolate—but Callie didn’t care. If there was ever a time to get drunk, it was now. The best man, who was even more striking up close, tossed back a shot of something golden then turned to face her. “She’ll have a shot of tequila,” he told the bartender, all the while holding her gaze with his own. Seemingly pleased by her shock at his forward behavior, he quirked an eyebrow and added, “Make it two. With lime and salt.” Callie had never seen eyes so green. Or such a gorgeous, masculine face. She blinked and tried to tear her eyes from his, but she didn’t have a chance. “Tobey Danville,” he said, his voice warm and slightly thick. Callie’s tongue darted out to lick her lips. She knew she was supposed to say her name, but she was having the darnedest time just remembering to breathe around this guy. His name seemed vaguely familiar, but her brain wasn’t working well enough for her to think about anything at all.
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One side of his mouth quirked up, but his semi-grin was far from being a smile. “And you are?” he asked, his tone slightly mocking, as if he was used to women losing all use of their tongues whenever he deigned to speak to them. The bartender placed a shot glass of tequila in front of Callie and she finally pulled herself away from her trance of lust. It was long past time for her to stop acting like such an idiot. What did it matter how gorgeous this guy was? He was probably married, she was definitely single and that was that. “Callie Moore,” she said without looking at him again—god forbid she get stuck in his green eyes again—and picked up the little glass. She took a small sip of the liquid and nearly spit it out. Suddenly angry at being the butt of some stranger’s joke, she turned towards Tobey, her eyes flashing. “What is this? Are you trying to kill me?” His laughter was so unexpected that Callie took a step back. “I take it you’ve never had tequila before?” he said, his words mixing with his laughter. Callie shook her head, not trusting herself to say anything more to this awful, albeit incredible, specimen of a man. When he laughed his eyes lit up and she thought they sparkled like the ocean, which was a ridiculous thought given that the closest she’d ever come to seeing a green-blue ocean was during a documentary about Jacques Cousteau on television. But before she could walk away—scratch that, run away—to her car and leave to go hide in her kitchen behind her store, he leaned down so that she could feel his warm breath across her cheek and said, “Won’t you let me show you how?” His softly spoken words made shivers run all the way from the tips of Callie’s breasts, which were now hard points of desire, past the vee of her legs, which was suddenly hot and aching, all the way down to the tips of her toes, which were fairly curling in her high heels. Every cell in her body was quivering in anticipation of whatever it was that Tobey wanted to show her. “God, yes,” she said in an exhale, wanting him to show her far more than how to drink the bitter beverage. Right now, as far as she was concerned, he could show her anything he wanted. Preferably naked, of course. Callie knew she should be shocked by her wanton behavior, by her shameless thoughts, but she couldn’t think straight with this man invading all of her personal space. He slid the two glasses together and picked up a slice of lime. “First, you hold the lime between your teeth, with the flesh facing me.” Obediently, Callie opened up her mouth and let Tobey slide the small green fruit between her lips. His thumb brushed lightly over her bottom lip as he did so, and even though she knew he was touching her on purpose to tease her with his power, to show her that he already controlled her body with his own, she didn’t care. “Now tilt your neck to the side,” he said as he brushed her blonde curls away from her neck. With hot, sure fingers, he lightly pushed aside the neckline of her long sleeve jersey dress to bare a small patch of skin between her neck and her collarbone. Callie was about to burst with wanting him. All he had done was touch her mouth and the tender skin on her neck and she was about to explode into a million pieces. She was shivering, but not with cold. It was a sunny day in the first week of January in frigid upstate New York, but Callie was burning up as if it was August in Barbados.
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“Good. Very good,” he said in a low voice, the tips of his fingers still upon her neck. Callie held her breath waiting for whatever came next. “I’m going to sprinkle a little salt onto your beautiful skin,” he whispered, shaking out several grains of salt onto her and Callie gasped, painfully, powerfully aware of the throbbing between her legs. “And then,” he said, in so low of a voice she could barely hear him, “it’s time for the tequila.” In one smooth motion, he leaned down and sucked at the skin on her shoulder, taking the salt into his mouth. Callie groaned with pleasure as his mouth seared her with its potent heat, and then he pulled his heat away from her and downed the bitter liquid in the shot glass. Callie was so mesmerized by his every move, his every breath, she was so under his spell, that she had forgotten all about the lime between her teeth, so it was in slow motion that he leaned towards her, closer and closer, until they were finally eye to eye. With a tenderness that she could hardly believe he possessed, he placed his mouth over hers, slowly tasted her lips with his tongue, tasting every curve and the corners between her upper and bottom lips, taking his time to brand her once again before he sucked the juice from the lime. If Callie had known that a lime could be so potent, so blatantly sexual, she would have planted a row of fruit trees in her garden long ago. She would have become a master of lemon tarts and key lime pies. Tobey removed the lime from her mouth with his teeth. Dazed, she watched him pluck it from his mouth and put it in the empty shot glass. Loud clapping for the band playing at the reception brought Callie back to reality. Had a stranger just licked salt off of her shoulder and then sucked a lime from between her teeth? But before she had time to fall all the way back to earth, Tobey leaned down and whispered in her ear the two words that were to be her downfall. “Your turn.” Callie stood dumbly, unable to make any part of her body work. This gorgeous man actually thought she was going to lick salt from his neck and then suck a lime from his lips? As if sensing her reservations, he said, “You don’t want to waste your drink, now do you?” Callie slowly shook her head. “No. It’s just that I,” she stuttered, unsure of what she could possible say to get herself out of this crazy predicament. What was she doing? She was a nice girl who owned a candy store, for god’s sake. Not some wanton slut who picked up men at weddings. She sneaked a glance down at his ring finger and breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t a husband stealing slut. As doubts threatened to take her over, she remembered her store and how she was going to lose it. Suddenly, it was all too much for her to deal with. “Oh, what the hell,” she said. Before she could change her mind, she picked up the slice of lime and shoved it into Tobey’s mouth. Her quick action must have stunned him and pleased him all at the same time, because his eyes crinkled and he chuckled from around the lime. Callie narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. He was going to regret laughing at her. She’d show him. She might look like a tiny blonde candy maker, but she could give as good as she got.
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At least she hoped she could. Blocking out any thoughts of where she was and how unseemly their drinking game was during the middle of a wedding reception, Callie focused on the task at hand: to make Tobey want her even more than she wanted him. She was going to set him on fire and then leave him high and dry after she took what she wanted. Coming up on her tippy-toes, she smiled coyly and ran her forefinger over the juice dripping from the lime onto Tobey’s full lower lip. “I should be gentler with you,” she said, then brought her finger to her mouth and sucked the drop of juice dry. Tobey’s Adam’s apple moved in his throat and Callie thought, That’s one point for my team. She took her finger from her mouth and brought her hands up to the bow tie of his tux. “You’ve got an awful lot of clothes on, don’t you?” Tobey raised an eyebrow as if to say, So what are you going to do about it? Even with a slice of lime between his lips he looked daunting and powerful and far, far too sure of himself. Callie matched his silent dare with a cheeky grin. Licking her lips, with great concentration she ran her small hands down the front of his tux, from his broad shoulders, down past his well-formed pecs, to what she assumed was a washboard stomach. Callie felt a moment of insecurity reach in to her bravado. Think quick, she urged herself, and right as she was wondering if she was indeed up to the task of seducing the seducer, she noticed Tobey’s large, workman-like hands. Callie took one of his lightly calloused hands in her own. She ran the tip of her finger along the soft skin and muscle at the curve between his thumb and forefinger and smiled with pleasure at Tobey’s exhale of breath. Her heart beating far too fast, she slowly turned his hand over and continued tracing the skin on his palm. More turned on than she’d ever been before—and all this in public with a man she’d known for five minutes with her clothes on and intact—Callie pushed the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket up to his forearm. Working to keep her fingers steady, trying to keep herself from simply jumping Tobey right then and there and riding him in the middle of the wedding reception, Callie undid the gold cufflink from his dress shirt and let it drop to the floor. Neither Callie nor Tobey watched the cuff link fall to the ground. They were intent on each other, wrapped up in the escalation of their game. Slowly, precisely, Callie folded Tobey’s starched sleeve up once, then twice. Every time her skin brushed against his, heat surged through her. Tobey’s pulse beat rapidly under the exposed skin of his wrist and she wanted to cover his heartbeat with the heat of her mouth. “Perfect,” she breathed, as she ran her thumb over his pulse-point. The spell remained unbroken as she reached for the salt shaker and sprinkled salt on to his tanned wrist and the edge of his palm. Raising his wrist to her mouth, Callie brought her lips to his skin and waves of desire washed through her as their bodies made contact again. She groaned as she sucked at him, hardly tasting the salt, desperate for a taste of Tobey’s essence, so potent and male and wonderful. Unwilling to lose contact with him, she licked a grain of salt off of the firm flesh on his palm and she heard a low sound from his throat, like a caged lion on the verge of escape. Knowing she needed to drink the fiery liquid, promising herself his mouth if she could tear her lips away from his wrist, Callie reached for the shot glass and drank the tequila in one long swallow. But this time it wasn’t bitter and she didn’t think it was going to kill her. Instead it
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made her feel warm, even warmer than she already was, and languid and perfect. She got back up on her tippy-toes and placed her hands behind Tobey’s neck and felt softness on her fingers as she threaded them into his hair. He leaned into her and she placed her teeth around the lime and sucked the juice from it without ever touching her skin to his, and then suddenly the lime was gone and she was kissing him, and his tongue was in her mouth, conquering her, showing her that she was going to have to play the game by his rules. Callie felt his strong hands encircle her back and pull her into him. She felt safe and hot and scared and wet and she wanted to curl up inside Tobey and never come out. “Ahem.” The bartender cleared his throat. And then again, but louder this time. “I think the bride and groom are trying to get your attention.” Callie heard the bartender from within a deep red fog, but she wanted to ignore it, if hearing him meant leaving heaven. It was Tobey who finally pulled away from her. With one last heavy look, his devil-maycare grin was back on his face. Everything hit her at once, and Callie felt as if she had been thrown from a hot tub to a cold plunge with no warning. But it was worse than that. Everyone at the wedding had just witnessed her throwing herself at a stranger. Knowing her thoughts, Tobey leaned in and whispered, “No one could see you behind me. There’s nothing to worry about.” Callie nodded quickly as tears welled up in her eyes for the hundredth time that day. Unable to meet his eyes, she turned and ran blindly away from the gathering, instinctively heading for the one place that she would feel safe again—the kitchen. She darted through the swinging door and stepped to the left just in time to avoid a collision with one of the waiters. Her eyes wild, she ran past the prep area, past the stoves, rounded a corner and found refuge in the walk-in refrigerator. Stepping inside, she slumped down onto an upside down milk crate and tried to catch her breath. She was just going to have to hide in the refrigerator until the reception was over. It was either that or risk running into Tobey again. Which she definitely couldn’t do. One more minute so near to him, and she’d be naked and riding him for sure.
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Chapter Two “May the bride and groom have true love forever!” Tobey raised his champagne glass in a toast to James and Jane, doing his best to act the part of the happy best man, but all he could think about was the little blonde vixen who had just run away from him. “Has anyone seen Callie?” Jane asked after the endless toasts were through. At her guest’s blank stares, she added, “She made the incredible truffles.” People moaned with remembered pleasure and licked their lips and said things like, “Better than sex,” and “Are there more?” Tobey smiled. He should have known that Callie had something to do with candy. Candy was, after all, his specialty. And Callie was so damn sweet, especially her plump lips and the succulent patch of skin at the base of her neck. He couldn’t wait to taste the rest of her. He was going to run his tongue over every inch of her body, from her lush breasts and her taut nipples, which he was guessing were a dusty rose on the light creamy skin of her breasts, to the valley between her thighs, and… Jane’s voice cut through his X-rated daydream. “Darn. I wish she was here so I could officially thank her for making those incredible truffles that everyone has been raving about.” Jane reached for her new husband’s hand. “Plus, if it weren’t for Callie’s Candies, James and I would have never found each other.” James leaned over and frenched his newly wedded wife. Tobey shifted from one foot to the other in discomfort and looked away. Get a room, he thought, but then, he and Callie had practically been humping at the bar, so who was he to complain? When his best friend was finally done kissing his bride, he turned towards Tobey with a knowing grin. “Any idea where Callie might be?” “Not a clue,” Tobey answered truthfully. “But I’d be happy to go find her for you.” “I bet you would,” James said with a wink. “For us.” Finally free of his best man duties, Tobey headed for the door that Callie had run through. He hoped that she hadn’t left the reception altogether. They had some unfinished business to take care of. Preferably while they were naked in a room with a lock. “The kitchen,” he said to himself, when he walked into the large cooking area. “That makes sense.” “Did anyone see a small blonde woman run through here?” One of the waiters nodded towards the hall behind the prep area and the stoves. “She went back there.” Tobey nodded his thanks. Once he had walked around the corner into the hidden, back area of the kitchen, he saw two large doors, both big enough for him to step through. Opening the door to his right, he realized it was a commercial freezer, packed full of ice cream containers and huge bags of ice.
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He closed the heavy freezer door and turned his gaze to the refrigerator door, a broad grin taking over his face. He almost felt sorry for his hot little candy maker. She may have intended on cooling off in the fridge, but he was going to make sure that she got hot, hot, hot instead.
***** Callie heard a noise in the hall and looked up through the thick, frosted glass on the refrigerator door. “Shit,” she whispered. A tall man in a tux was standing just outside the door. It had to be Tobey. She tried to push herself back further into the shelves, hoping that her dark pink dress would help her to blend in with the crates of supplies. Maybe if she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, didn’t even breathe, he would go away. And she could be left in peace with her memory of the taste of his skin and the beating of his heart on her lips. Callie had spent the past ten minutes rubbing the goose bumps on her arms and trying to convince herself that she had had enough of Tobey. She had firmly decided that she was going to be perfectly happy masturbating in the shower to the sexy picture of Tobey that she had fixed in her mind’s eye. She didn’t need to see him, didn’t need to touch him, didn’t need any more of his kisses. But now that he was standing only feet from her—somehow she had known all along that he would find her and now he had—it was all she could do not to fling the door open, pull him inside the cramped 5’x5’ space with her, and rip all of his clothes from his body. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to be content with just the memory of him, with just her dreams of what it would be like to feel him naked against her, writhing in pleasure. At the same time, an annoying inner voice of reason was telling Callie that there was no use in giving in to her baser needs. One night of mind-blowing sex wasn’t going to help anything. It wasn’t going to save her business. It wasn’t going to save her pathetic love life. Although, she thought with a grin, it was guaranteed to be fun. The doorknob turned and Callie gasped. He was coming in. What was she going to do? She stood up and backed into the wall, pressing herself up against the cold edge of the laden shelves as hard as she could. In the dim light of the refrigerator, Tobey’s warm voice wrapped around her. “I thought I might find you in here.” Callie was both alarmed and aroused by his presence, by the way he filled up the room with his essence. The crazy mix of feelings made it hard for her to speak. “I, uh…” she said as she watched Tobey open the door and step into the refrigerator with her, his eyes drinking hungrily of her, noting her taut, cold nipples through the thin silk of her bra, noting the way she had pressed herself up against the shelves to try and hide from him. She was sure that he could read the need in her eyes, even as she tried to hide it from him. Less than four feet from her, which was at least four feet too close for Callie’s comfort, Tobey closed the door behind him with a soft but definite click, never once taking his eyes from her. His voice laced with humor, he said, “There’s no lock, but at least it’s private. We’ll just have to hope no one needs any milk.”
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Looking for a way out, for some sort of escape path, willing herself to think fast so that she could get the heck away from him, she said, “Actually, I was looking for the milk, for, um, coffee for the reception.” Picking up a carton of milk, she said, “So now that I’ve found it, I…” Tobey took a step towards her and Callie, who felt as if she was the lioness being hunted by a needy lion, dropped the carton of milk on the floor. It broke open and splashed onto her shoes, but she hardly noticed. All she could feel was his heat. She knew he could feel hers, as if she was drawing him to her via some sort of sexual infrared. No matter how many times she told herself she didn’t want what he was offering her, no matter how she tried to convince herself that she didn’t need the release that he promised her, she knew that she did. Desperately. Tobey pinned her against the shelves with one arm on either side of her. “You weren’t looking for milk,” he said, his voice husky. “You were looking for this.” He leaned in and captured her mouth in a kiss so sweet, so powerful, that Callie was instantly infused with a deep warmth. But even as her passion grew, Callie worried. “What if someone walks in?” Tobey laughed off her fears, unconcerned. He nipped at her lips, biting softly at the incredibly sensitive, cool flesh, burning her up. Vaguely noting that her skirt was hiked all the way up around her waist, Callie thought, Thank god I’m not wearing nylons. Tobey’s fingers made their way up the soft flesh of her inner thigh, teasing her with their intent. He hiked one of her legs up against his thigh and, breathless with anticipation, Callie felt herself grow more and more swollen, until finally he pushed past the wispy silk of her panties and found her slick and ready and wet. He pushed his palm against her inflamed mons and Callie pushed her weight into his hand, no more able to stop herself from grinding into him than she would have been able to walk away and leave him. All the while, even as her breath caught, even as the hard flesh of his palm aroused her clitoris until she almost hurt with it, Tobey was driving her crazy with his gentle kisses. Until now, Callie had always been perfectly happy to let the man lead in bed. She had been content to let her lovers take their time exploring her, to even show them how she liked to be touched for even greater pleasure. But now, in this moment, Callie knew that if she didn’t get more of Tobey—his mouth, his hands, the huge, hard shaft that was pressing against his black tuxedo pants and now against her palm as she cupped his heavy weight—she was going to die. She plunged her tongue into his mouth and found his, forcing it to mate with hers. She heard him make a sound of pleasure, she thought she matched his moan with her own, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything other than mating with this glorious man, whose touch turned her skin to flames. Lifting his mouth from hers, Tobey reached for the jersey fabric of her dress. “I need to see you,” he said in a low voice. Callie pulled her dress up over her head then reached for Tobey’s jacket, roughly yanking it off of his shoulders. “I need to taste you,” she said as she ripped off his bow tie and jerked his shirt open at the neck. Her lips and tongue found the hollow of his neck, found his strong, quick pulse, and with every moment she grew wetter and readier for Tobey than she had ever been for any man.
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He slid his hands to her back, stroking flames onto her skin, and then her bra was on the floor, and his sure fingers overtook hers, clumsy with cold and need as she tried to remove his shirt. Knocking off several cartons of milk from a low shelf beside them, he propped her up on it. Callie reached for his belt, but he had already dropped to his knees, his mouth at her breasts, licking and sucking at the soft, plump flesh, coming closer and closer to her nipples, but not nearly close enough. Already puckered from the refrigeration, her areolas tightened into tiny buds of bliss as he licked slow circles around them, almost flicking against her nipples, but never quite touching them. “Please,” Callie moaned, her hands wound into Tobey’s thick, dark hair, her head thrown back, her back arched. She pushed her tits into him, any remaining vestiges of modesty gone, impatient for him to put her out of this exquisite agony. “Not yet,” he said, taking her ample breasts into his hands. Reverently, he ran his thumbs lightly over her nipples, then back again, flicking the tight buds with his fingers. “Dusty rose. I knew it,” he said softly as he worshiped her. His mouth consumed her as he tasted every square inch of her glorious breasts, rising up from her rib cage to the taut peak of her nipples. “You’re so beautiful. So damn beautiful.” Callie had always been more than a little embarrassed by the size of her breasts—D cups on a five foot frame had always seemed way out of proportion—but if Tobey continued to lick and suck her like that, she vowed to never have another bad thought about them again. “Oh god, yes,” she whimpered, her sounds of pleasure muffled by the thick walls of the refrigerator. She was so hot, burning up everywhere he touched her. And then his hands were lifting her up and pulling her panties off of her, the wispy silk scratching the sensitive skin on her inner thighs. Her panties fell to her ankles and she kicked them off, along with her shoes. And then Tobey’s head was between her legs, his tongue on her. He lightly touched the tip of her clit, engorged and so sensitive. Instinctively, Callie opened her legs up wider and bucked her hips up into his mouth. Callie knew he was intent on teasing her because he held her firmly away from his mouth, lapping at her once, then twice, then blowing lightly on her heated flesh. “More,” she cried, no longer worried about anyone walking in on them, no longer caring if anyone in the kitchen heard her scream out for him. A smile on his lips, he reached for her and brought her lips to his, letting her taste her juices, letting her lick them from his tongue. “You have the sweetest pussy,” he said, and she said, “Please.” His hand on her thigh, only inches from her lips, he said, “Tell me what you want.” Callie didn’t even have to think. “Lick me.” Tobey licked her kneecap. “Here?” he asked, his eyes devious and challenging. “No,” she cried, wishing he would give her what she wanted, wishing she didn’t have to say the words. He licked the tender flesh on the inside of her elbow. “Here?” Callie gave in. “My pussy,” she whispered, amazed to hear the word roll off her tongue. “Lick my pussy,” she said again, her voice louder, more sure as she realized how much she
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liked the feel of the word as it rolled from her tongue to her lips and then out into the cold air of their private refrigerated world. Tobey kissed her hard on her lips, bruising them, before kissing a trail down her flesh, from the hollow of her neck to the valley between her lush breasts. “I,” he pulled at her nipples with his mouth, causing shivers of ecstasy to race down Callie’s spine, “would be happy,” his tongue dipped into her belly button, “to lick,” and then lower still to the very tip of her clit, “your pussy.” In an instant his mouth was on her, hot and insistent. His tongue plunged in and out of her canal, he sucked on her swollen clit, and Callie cried out as all of the pressure that had been building up since she first saw Tobey standing at the bar threatened to explode into a million glorious pieces. Impossible tremors wracked her, knocking her back against the shelves, pushing her off the counter into Tobey’s lips and teeth and hands. He slipped a finger into her slick, pulsing canal, then two. Callie felt her muscles clench around him, trying to take his thick fingers even deeper and she envisioned his cock pumping in and out of her, just like his fingers were doing, rough and powerful and perfect. Her heart pounding so hard, faster than she thought it could, the rainbow of colors faded away, and Callie fell limp in Tobey’s arms.
***** Still on his knees, sticky in a pool of milk, Tobey could hardly think. He could hardly breathe. He was no stranger to sweaty, grinding sex, but he couldn’t help but be amazed by what happened to him with this woman. He got within five feet of her and he lost his mind. He had to have her. Every perfect inch of her. He grinned as he felt the last of her contractions press down on his fingers. He was pleased, more pleased than he could ever say, that Callie obviously felt exactly the same way about him. He had always had a thing for stacked little blondes, but this one was putting every other woman he’d been with to shame. She was heedless in her passion, shy yet demanding, hungry, yet waiting for him to make the next move. His grin fell away. His cock throbbed in his pants, demanding attention. Tobey hadn’t been this hard since he was sixteen, about to stick his dick into his first pussy. He didn’t think he could hold off much longer. With his free hand, he undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, then reached for the condom in his back pocket. Steadying Callie, who had leaned her weight against him as she recovered from the huge orgasm that had ripped through her, Tobey slowly slid his fingers from her, pressing one last kiss to her sweet cunt, licking her sweet juices off of his lips before he rose up from his knees. Finally, the tip of his cock rested at the incredibly wet, pink entrance to her vagina, his hugely swollen head red with insistence. Tobey wanted to plunge into her, roughly, forcefully, until he exploded. He wanted to overpower her, to squeeze her enormous breasts, to feel them heavy in his hands as he rode her, dominated her. He wanted to grab her ankles and push them over her shoulders, opening up her thighs wide so that he could watch his cock sink into her, inch by inch. But even though he wanted to do all of this and more, he didn’t. Because even more than Tobey wanted to take Callie for his own pleasure, he wanted to please her all over again. He wanted to hear her cries of ecstasy and watch her as she came beneath him.
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He slipped the condom on in one smooth move, and smiled into her beautiful blue eyes. She looked up at him, shy again, and Tobey opened his mouth to murmur something comforting to her, to let her know that she was safe with him, that he was going to take his time, even if it killed him. And then her eyes changed, turning from a clear ocean to a swirling, deep dark blue. Before he knew what had even happened, Callie had bucked her hips into him and swallowed his cock. All of it. “Callie,” he groaned against her lips. She shut him up with a kiss so full of ownership, Tobey knew right then and there that he would be hers forever. Bucking and rearing, Tobey slid in and out of her, delirious with pleasure. Her breasts struck his chest with every thrust and Callie’s kisses sucked all of the breath from him. Barely coherent, Tobey felt her muscles begin to tighten around his shaft. Mustering what little control he had left, he held her ass still with his big hands. “Look at me.” As if from a dream, Callie opened her eyes slowly. Hazy with passion, she watched him watch her. Tobey slid out one inch, and then another. Callie’s eyelids fell shut and so he stilled again. “Open your eyes,” he said, his voice shaking with need even as he gave her his command. Slowly she re-opened them and he thought he saw defiance in their depths. He was right. “They’re open,” she whispered. “Now show me a good time.” Tobey would have laughed if he could have. Instead he thrust his cock into her pussy again and again, watching her eyes change again from a deep blue to a dark purple. As Callie’s orgasm overtook her, Tobey closed his eyes, threw his head back, and came hard and long. It seemed to go on forever. He thought he would never feel so good again for the rest of his life. But then, just as he relaxed, feeling much like he did at the end of a marathon, out of breath and exhilarated, Callie’s body language changed beneath him. It might have been an imperceptible change to some men, but Tobey recognized it immediately for what it was. Regret. Embarrassment. He refused to let her do it and tried to capture her mouth in a kiss, but she turned her head to the side and his lips just grazed her cheek. She wriggled her butt cheeks back into the shelves behind her and pushed at his chest. He fell out of her and she moved quickly, reaching for her bra and her dress. She threw them over her head and slipped her feet into her shoes and Tobey, figuring he’d have a better chance of reasoning with her if he had some clothes on too, quickly dressed back into his now-wrinkled, slightly milky tuxedo. “Callie,” he said. His voice was low and warm and he felt like he was trying to coax a frightened cat to drink from his bowl of milk. But he didn’t get the chance to say anything else. Loud voices sounded from the hall just as Callie put her hand on the doorknob. She turned to him. “Stay in here until everyone is gone. I’ll distract them.” Tobey frowned, then nodded. He didn’t want to embarrass Callie by giving away his presence, but at the same time, he couldn’t let her get away. “Wait for me,” he said, but she was already out the door and gone.
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Sitting down on am upside-down milk crate, Tobey rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms. Her scent was everywhere on him. “She’s not going to get away,” he promised himself as he looked around at the mess they’d made in the commercial refrigerator with a smile. “Who knew a refrigerator could be so damn hot?”
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Chapter Three The next morning, Tobey’s smile could have lit up a small theatre. He planned to check in at his office, have his assistant clear his schedule, and then he was going to track down Callie Moore. Sweet, delectable Callie Moore. Tobey walked past the large, colorful Sweet Returns: Candy Company Consultant sign and into his office building in downtown Albany, New York. Alice, his assistant, looked as if she had already been hard at work for several hours. He was certain that she had been writing up invoices, balancing their accounts, keeping everything running so smoothly that all he ever had to do was think about the best ways to sell candy, even though it was just past eight in the morning. “The king has finally arrived,” she said, her mouth tight as she glanced towards the clock. Alice had managed his office since the day he’d hung out his shingle fifteen years ago and often treated him like he was no more than an unruly son who needed a ruler taken to his backside every once and again to stay on the straight and narrow. “And not a minute too soon. You need to read through several things before you meet with your new client.” Tobey sat down in a chair, guilt momentarily weighing him down. How was he ever going to let Alice go? When he closed up his candy consulting business and joined his older brother, Ed, in the accounting firm next month, he knew Alice was going to be heartbroken. Not to mention the fact that she was going to disapprove of his choice. The smile reappeared on his face. Alice loved to disapprove of whatever it was he did. Getting her all riled up was part of the fun of working with her. Promising himself that he’d sit down and have a talk with Alice soon, he pushed it from his mind. “I need you to clear my calendar for the day.” And hopefully for the next month or so, Tobey thought. He was already envisioning a trip to the Hawaiian Islands with Callie wearing nothing but a string bikini on a hot, sandy beach. He and Callie would explore their desire endlessly. Long days in the sun, followed by perfect nights under the stars. With Callie. Adorable, sensuous Callie. Cutting into his fantasy, Alice said, “No can do. You have an important consultation today.” Her voice was full of censure. Tobey wondered if she had used x-ray powers to guess his most intimate thoughts. He was firm. “Cancel it.” Alice shook her head. “I can’t and I won’t. The woman I spoke to sounds sweeter than sweet, truly in love with making candy, and, most importantly, desperately in need of your help.” Tobey frowned at Alice, then got up out of the leather chair and stalked to her desk. “Fine,” he said reaching his hand out for the packet of client information. “I’ll go.” He grabbed the file without looking at it, impatient and displeased that he wasn’t going to be able to go see Callie
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right away. Who cared about selling candy when what waited for him was so much better than any saltwater taffy, sour ball, or chocolate bar could ever be? “Who’s the client?” Alice surprised him with a smile. “Callie’s Candies.” Tobey nearly dropped the folder. “Did you just say Callie’s Candies?” A curious glint in her eyes, Alice nodded. “That’s right. My sister lives in Saratoga with that horse-crazy husband of hers and last time I went out to visit her, we dropped into Callie’s Candies. Best damn truffles I ever had.” “I know,” Tobey said, remembering the rapturous faces of the wedding guests as they ate Callie’s truffles. They had the same look that was currently drawn across Alice’s face. “I’ve never seen you get so excited about candy before,” he said, teasing his assistant. “There are a lot of things you haven’t seen,” she snapped at him as if he were a little boy who wouldn’t know up from down without her help. Returning to an all-business demeanor she said, “She’s expecting you at 10 a.m. Don’t be late. And don’t you dare let her down.” Intent on finding out everything he could about Callie’s Candies before 10 a.m., Tobey stepped into his office and closed the door. Opening the thick file of information that Alice had assembled for him, he started reading.
***** Callie’s alarm went off at 7 a.m. and she burrowed down under the covers, trying to ignore it. She felt like hell today, which was no wonder, considering she hadn’t slept more than fifteen minutes all night. Her dog, Wolf, got up from his big doggy bed on the floor and pushed his chin up on her pillow. Feeling the weight of his big, shaggy head hit the bed, she emerged from beneath the down duvet. “All right, I hear you. I’m turning it off,” she said. Silence descended again and Callie was certain she heard Wolf sigh with relief. She sat up in bed, pulling the sheets up with her, and scratched Wolf’s head between his ears. Just like she knew he would, he got so relaxed that his head slid off the bed and he stretched out on the rug beside her bed to go back to sleep. The sheets scratched the tender skin of her breasts and Callie lightly ran her hands over them. Still sore and aching, they were a potent reminder of what she had done at James and Jane’s wedding only a day before. All night long, images of her coming in Tobey’s mouth, of his teeth grazing her shoulder as he sucked salt from her, of her thrusting into him, fucking him, desperate for him, assailed her. How could she have behaved like that? She hadn’t even recognized herself in the woman she had become yesterday in his arms. Now all she wanted to do was put a closed sign on the door of her candy store and take a sleeping pill that would knock her out ‘til tomorrow. She wanted to drown out her stupidity with sleep. Maybe if she slept long enough, it would all go away. And then her life would return to normal. Unfortunately, Callie knew that wasn’t possible. Not only did she have potential customers to sell candy to—not many, of course, but the ones who came were loyal and she loved each and every one of them—but she had an important business meeting. Her accountant had set up an appointment for her with a renowned candy company consultant, Sweet something or other
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was the name of his company. He was going to be coming by her store at 10 a.m. this morning. No matter how bad she felt today—like a cheap, tawdry slut to tell the truth—she couldn’t miss this meeting, or she’d really be screwed. Literally and figuratively. She dragged herself out of bed, almost stepping on one of Wolf’s big mutt paws. She bent over to drop a kiss on his muzzle in apology and then stepped into the shower. She turned it on full blast, praying that water could wash away some of her sins. “I’m supposed to be the nice candy lady,” she muttered, roughly soaping up her skin. “Not the truffle slut who picks up the best man and fucks his brains out.” She lathered up her arms, her legs, her stomach, trying to avoid the inside of her thighs until the last minute. She didn’t want to touch herself, had held off from touching herself all night, even though her every waking moment had been filled with arousing images of her and Tobey at the bar and in the refrigerator. Her short dreams when she had fallen asleep had been even worse than that. After only a few minutes of sleep she woke up, drenched in sweat, the apex of her legs—she couldn’t believe she had actually said the word pussy yesterday— throbbing with need. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t control herself, the need Tobey unleashed in her was that great. Her hands had a mind of their own and before she knew it she was touching herself, rubbing herself, pretending that Tobey’s tongue was on her again. Her clit grew huge and hard and her legs were trembling so badly that she had to lean back against the wall for support. She imagined him in the shower with her, her legs wrapped around his waist, his cock driving into her, his strong arms supporting her weight, his tongue in her mouth. The orgasm hit her like a city bus and nearly knocked her down. She rubbed herself frantically, not wanting the tremors to end, not wanting the fantasy of Tobey being with her to be erased when she opened her eyes. But when it was through, she shampooed her hair and dried off, utterly disgusted with herself. Forcing herself to push all erotic thoughts away, Callie dressed in her one suit, the most severe outfit she owned. The light pink suit accented her curves, the one button on the jacket showcasing her tiny waist and lush breasts and hips. Underneath the jacket, she wore a seethrough silk camisole. She didn’t intend to take her jacket off for the meeting—the suit was more like armor than clothes in her mind—and the white silk looked the best of anything she owned peeking out from underneath her jacket. Callie usually wore jeans and a t-shirt that said Callie’s Candies on it, so today she felt business-like and stern in her suit. She brushed her hair violently, trying to tame her unruly curls, and finally gave up. “Who am I kidding?” she said, taking one last look in the mirror. Wolf followed her out of the bedroom and she let him into the little fenced backyard to take care of his business. “I’ll come back at lunch,” she called to him and he stopped sniffing the grass and turned his furry face to hers, wagging his tail as if he understood. Sliding the screen door shut, Callie sighed. “At least somebody loves me,” she said, then went to the garage to get her car. Downtown Saratoga, home to the famous horse races, was only ten minutes from her cottage. It had snowed the night before, but by 8 a.m. the streets were nicely plowed and the sidewalk slush had melted. Callie had spent her whole life in Saratoga, but the Saratoga of today was very different from the town she knew so well as a child. Now that she might have to close her store in the near future, she took in the Main Street with renewed interest.
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When Callie was a little girl, she used to ride her bike into town with her friends, fifty cents in her pocket, straight to the candy store. They’d fill up their bags with jujubes and Necco wafers and jawbreakers and then head to the park and stuff themselves full of sugar under an elm tree. As a teenager, when Callie realized she had been blessed with the gift of candy making, she knew that, as soon as she could, she would open up her own candy store on Main Street. Her dream became a reality when she was twenty-five years old. She had saved every penny from her various cooking and catering jobs over the years, only spending the bare minimum on her cottage, and all of the sweat and grease was worth it when she signed the lease for her very own candy store. The first time she walked by the vacant storefront that was now Callie’s Candies, the old rundown ice cream shop didn’t look like much good for anything other than for breeding spiders and mice. Narrow but deceptively long, with a large kitchen in back, it was covered in dust and neglect. But for Callie it was her first brush with true love. She immediately envisioned the space a buttery yellow, glass display cases full of truffles and fudge, old wine barrels on the floor with fresh, homemade saltwater taffy. The past five years had been the most rewarding time of her life. She made candy in the evening and sold it by day. She loved watching the glee on the children’s faces as they flew in off of their bikes, strewn haphazardly on the wide sidewalk, anticipation glowing in their eyes. They knew that Miss Callie would always give them free samples of whatever she had just made that day, whether it was vanilla swirl fudge or chocolate turtle pie. And even when they pulled the dollar out of the dirty shorts and handed it to her for a bag of taffy, they couldn’t wait to get outside and see what little “extra” Callie had thrown in for them, maybe a lollipop or a wax-paper-covered slice of fudge. Sometimes, if they were really lucky, and they had been given money from their mothers for a box of truffles to take home, Callie never let them get out of the store without a handful of lollipops and gummy worms. But now that popular chain stores ruled the street along with swanky restaurants and wine bars that seemed to multiply by the week, Callie’s rent had doubled, then tripled in the past five years. With every year, she found it harder and harder to put something away in the bank after she had paid her bills. People were always telling her to put up a website and advertise, but she didn’t know the first thing about that kind of stuff. And she didn’t want to. She just wanted to make candy and watch the joy on her customers’ faces as they ate it. Callie pulled into the plowed parking lot behind her building, then walked through the narrow alley between buildings to the sidewalk. She always made it a point to enter her store by the front door in the morning. Her first sight of the pretty yellow, blue, and white striped awning over the window and the fanciful cartoonish painted letters of Callie’s Candies on the flag beside the door made her incredibly happy. She unlocked the front door and walked in, pulling up the shade on the door, scanning the glass for smudges or smears. Satisfied that it was clear and clean, she headed for the back room, breathing in the scent of sugar and cocoa powder, feeling settled for the first time since the wedding the day before.
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Her store didn’t open until 11 a.m., Monday through Friday, but Callie always had plenty to do in the morning. The best was making fudge or coating truffles in coconut and peanuts. The worst was going through her inventory and doing her orders for the week. Today was inventory day, of course. Callie sighed with dismay. Today of all days, she could have used a long, therapeutic session with some caramel and nougat. “It figures,” she muttered, as she walked into her small office at the back of the store and put her purse down. She took off her suit jacket and laid it across the back of her desk chair. Unbound by the jacket, her breasts felt free and immodest in the white lace camisole, reminding her yet again of her wanton behavior at the wedding. “Forget about it. You’ve got work to do,” she lectured herself and got straight to work, intent on ignoring the new sensual sensations her body was sending her. Picking up her clipboard and supply spreadsheet, she went to her dry storeroom first and noted what was low. Moving to her tiny walk-in refrigerator, she checked materials off her list from the top shelf first. The bottom shelves were deep and she had to get on her knees to count cocoa bars. The position was awkward, with her rear end pointing straight up, her hands and knees sprawled unladylike on the floor. For the past five years, Callie had planned on putting in sliding shelves on the bottom of her refrigerator. Unfortunately, the project never made it to the top of her ever-growing to-do list so she hadn’t gotten to it quite yet. Squirming around, trying to get comfortable in her clumsy position, she said, “One, two, three, four,” aloud as she counted stacks of the finest imported cocoa bars. Immersed in her counting and in the painful crick that was building up in her neck, she was surprised by a familiar scent that suddenly overwhelmed her senses. Her inventory forgotten, she stopped counting cocoa and heard footsteps coming up the short hallway and then stopping at the doorway to her storeroom. One thing was absolutely certain, she thought with a thudding heartbeat, she was no longer the only person in Callie’s Candies. “We’ve got to stop meeting in refrigerators like this.” Callie’s heart stopped beating altogether. She would have recognized that smooth, deep voice anywhere. Her breasts had grown full and tight after just that one sentence. And now that she heard his voice, she knew the scent that had tipped her off was one she would never forget again. Tobey smelled like the perfect mixture of passion and heat and masculinity all rolled up in one. Callie froze in place, unable to get her limbs to work. She couldn’t believe that Tobey’s first image of her outside of the wedding refrigerator was like this—could she be any less feminine, she wondered dejectedly—in her own damn commercial refrigerator. Her face, she was sure, was going to be flushed a deep shade of red when she finally stood back up, considering that the man she had been lusting after for the past twenty-four hours had just walked into her store unannounced, just in time to witness her pawing through her shelves on her hands and knees with her ass sticking straight up in the air. “On second thought,” he said, his voice washing over her like hot caramel, “I think I like it.” For a millisecond, Callie considered trying to crawl onto the shelf, hoping that Tobey would just go away. Then again, she thought, she hadn’t invited him to her store. In fact, she
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hadn’t even told him she had a store, so how could it possibly be her fault that he had found her looking less than ideal. Trying desperately to rouse up some anger—otherwise she was stuck with embarrassed and horny, and that was a terrible combination—Callie crawled backwards and stood up, brushing invisible specks of dust off her knees and skirt. Her arms folded across her chest, she said, “What are you doing here?” Tobey was leaning against the door, looking more gorgeous than any man had a right to in his pin-striped shirt and well-tailored coat and slacks. He grinned widely and Callie wanted to smack the smile from his lips. And kiss him senseless, of course, but she was going to have some control over herself if it killed her. “This is Callie’s Candies isn’t it?” Callie nodded, keeping her lips firmly pressed together, forcing herself to back up into the refrigerator shelves, rather than jump Tobey’s bones like the slut that she was turning out to be. Tobey smiled. “I’m here for our appointment.” Callie’s mouth dropped open. She quickly shut it, but no question about it, her brain wasn’t firing correctly anymore. She couldn’t manage anything better than, “For our appointment?” She was utterly mortified, sure that her skin was turning pinker and pinker by the second. If things got any worse, she would definitely fade away completely into the fabric of her pink suit. “10 a.m., Monday morning. My assistant set it up with your accountant.” “You can’t be. I mean, you couldn’t be. Oh god,” she said, leaning her weight into the cool air of the refrigerator as the full ramifications of her actions came crashing down upon her. Thoughts rushed around her brain, knocking into each other as the magnitude of her mistake sunk in. I slept with the Candy King. I had a one-night stand with the one person who could save my business. Oh god, what am I going to do? What if he thinks I knew who he was all along and did it on purpose? Trying to think quick, she said, “Oh yes, of course. I was so wrapped up in doing my weekly inventory that I forgot all about our appointment.” Her voice was as crisp as she could make it, but to her ears her words still sounded far too much like soggy pie crust. Struggling to sound impersonal, she said, “Please forgive me. You’re with Sweet…” Callie let her voice drop and looked up towards the ceiling as if she obviously knew the name of his company but had momentarily forgotten it. She hoped against hope that he would fall for her act. The truth was, she was such a bad business owner she didn’t even know the name of the company that had been sent in to save her from ruin. “Sweet Returns,” he said smoothly, his eyes running past her flushed face to her chest and getting stuck there. “And of course,” he added, never taking his eyes from her breasts, his voice husky and full of the very need she herself was trying to fight off, “I forgive you.” Too late Callie realized that she was flashing Tobey through the translucent white silk of her flimsy camisole. She crossed her arms across her chest, wanting to hide her telltale arousal from Tobey, but it was no use. With her arms crossed beneath her breasts, the soft flesh rose indecently up out of the v-neck top of her skimpy shell. She didn’t know which was worse: her hard, pink nipples shooting through the fabric like darts, or the bounteous mounds of her breasts spilling from her top.
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Wishing she weren’t always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, Callie bit her lip and said, “Should we get down to business?” No matter how hard she tried to act professional, her voice was tentative and breathy. Callie knew she sounded like she’d rather get kissed by Tobey than look at the bottom line with him. But she couldn’t help it. Tobey was so damn gorgeous. And sexy. And… Oh my god, he was standing right in front of her. The next thing she knew, he had crossed the small space between them in the storeroom. With the intimacy that comes from knowing just how a woman needs to be touched, he brushed back a curl from her cheek. Callie shivered. Just like the visions that had kept her awake all night long, Tobey was right there within stroking distance. She needed him desperately. Against any good sense she had ever possessed, her arms uncrossed and moved across his shoulders to entwine around his neck and she pressed her breasts up against his hard chest. “Callie,” he said. The word wrapped around her like a deep fog and then his mouth was on hers and her lips were open and greedy and she was moaning. He felt so good, so damn good, she was nearly sobbing with need. Tobey sucked at her lower lip, letting his teeth graze her skin, still sensitive from their lovemaking at the wedding, before moving his mouth down past her chin and then the side of her neck. “I was awake all night dreaming about doing this again.” He sank his lips into the crook of her neck and sucked at it. Callie groaned. “Me too,” she admitted, unable to stop the confession from rolling off of her tongue. “And this,” he said. He hooked his thumb under the strap of her sheer camisole and slid it off one shoulder, baring the top of her breast to him. Gently he rubbed the soft flesh of her breasts and then bent his head further and sucked at the soft tissue. Callie felt her nipples jut out even further, she heard herself crying out his name as she let her neck fall back and pressed her tits into his eager mouth. She had forgotten everything—where she was, that she hardly knew Tobey, that she was a good girl, the kind of girl who had a good time in bed, but at least the good time had always been in a bed. All Callie cared about was the feel of Tobey’s lips and tongue and teeth on her breasts, the way his light stubble felt sandy against her soft skin, the way his hands were cupping her ass, molding her hips into his hardness, just the way she wanted. Her hands reached for his coat and she roughly pulled it off of his shoulders and threw it on the floor, her mouth taking his, her tongue plunging in and out of his mouth, mating frantically with his. Needing to touch his naked skin more than she needed to breathe, Callie pulled his shirt out from his pants, finally sighing with pleasure when her fingers found the warm, rippling muscles on his back. With his foot, Tobey closed the door to the storeroom and spun them around, pressing Callie up against it. She felt Tobey’s hardness, still covered by his wool slacks, press into her panties, which were already wet with her need. The wool felt rough and scratchy through the thin silk of her panties and she ground her hips into his. Callie felt desperate for release, on the verge of coming apart against Tobey’s hard, hot thighs. “Go on, sweetheart,” Tobey urged her. Callie opened her eyes and she looked into his, dark with passion. Passion for her. It was her undoing.
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She threw her head back and Tobey’s mouth found the wildly beating pulse in her neck. One hand found her clit, hard and throbbing and ready to explode, the other her aching nipples. One touch, then two and she was gone, exploding against him, shoving her hips into his hands, against his hard cock again and again. Somewhere in her fog she realized that his hand had dropped from her breast and that his pants had fallen to the floor and he had rolled a condom on. But all she cared about was the hot, stretching sensation at the opening of her vagina, that Tobey was about to plunge his thick penis into her. All night long Callie had dreamt about Tobey fucking her again, about riding his shaft and crying out his name. She felt him slide into her, sure and fierce, and she found his lips again, wanting to show him how much she loved the way she felt when he was touching her. She tasted his lips, his tongue, his mouth. “Callie,” he groaned, her name sounding like worship, and all of Callie’s visions from the sleepless night before merged with their sweaty sex in the refrigerator and the tequila shots and her rubbing herself in the shower dreaming of Tobey. Her muscles clenched around his cock and she sobbed into his mouth, his tongue pumping in and out of her mouth in the same rhythm that he was thrusting into her. Callie clung to Tobey, her eyes clenched shut, never wanting to wake up from the best dream she had ever had. “Miss Callie?” A small voice from the hallway was calling out her name, but Callie was too busy throwing herself at Tobey, too intent on coming against Tobey, to hear. Tobey called out, “Callie will be out in a minute.” Her legs were shaky and she felt so helpless all of a sudden that she stood completely still while Tobey righted all of her clothes. Pushing her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ears, he said, “That was wonderful, sweetheart.” Callie blushed, feeling suddenly sick at her out-of-control behavior and bent down to pick up Tobey’s jacket so that she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. She handed it to him and Tobey quickly rearranged his own clothes then stepped back from the door to give Callie room to open it. Jonah, a ten–year-old whose mother owned a gift shop on the other end of Main, poked his woolen capped head into the storeroom. He beamed when he saw Callie. “My mom needs a box of truffles for her store and she sent me over here to see if you could give me some before we open. I sure am glad you’re here or else I’d have to ride my bike all the way down here again later.” Callie suddenly saw herself through the innocent eyes of a child and she couldn’t help but feel dirty. Forcing herself to ignore Tobey’s presence in the room, she walked through the doorway on shaky legs. Laughing, the sound obviously forced, she ruffled Jonah on the head. She kept her voice light and said, “Oh no, Jonah. I’d hate for you to have to ride your bike all the way down Main Street. Again.” Callie heard the trembling behind her teasing words and hated herself for it. She was sure that Tobey could hear it too. Why, she wondered, couldn’t she be calm, cool, and collected around him? Why did she have to be so pathetically attracted to him?
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On the way into the front of her shop, she grabbed her jacket from her office chair and put it back on, wishing she had stayed with her plan of keeping it on, no matter what. If she had known she was meeting with Tobey she would have worn her most chaste outfit, something from the back of closet that covered every square inch of skin from her chin to her ankles. Callie buttoned the one button at the waist and wondered how she could have ever possibly felt stern and business-like in the suit. Wearing this suit was, she now realized, as good as wearing a sign that said, “Fuck me, please. I like sex with men I don’t know.” What she wouldn’t give for a coat of armor now. She pulled a large chocolate box off of the shelf and handed it to Jonah. “Why don’t you pick out your favorites, honey?” she said, knowing that her hands would be shaking so hard she’d barely be able to get the truffles into the box. Jonah gave her a look of surprise, but quickly stripped off his mittens and got to work loading up mint and dark chocolate truffles into the box. Even as she chose a lollipop for Jonah from her stash of goodies below the cash register, Callie was far too aware of Tobey’s large, hot presence behind her. Everything about him radiated power and sex, all of the stuff she had always been a sucker for. And look what it had gotten her so far, she reminded herself harshly. She was alone and broke, with nothing but a failing candy store and a mutt to keep her company. “Miss Callie, I’m done now,” Jonah said, snapping her out of her self-pity. “Here,” he said, putting a $20 bill in Callie’s hand. She put the bill away in the cash register then handed the little boy his special treat. “My favorite!” he exclaimed as he shoved the lollipop into the pocket of his down jacket. “Thanks, Miss Callie,” he added, getting on his tippy toes to give her a peck on the cheek before he ran out of the heated store into the cold and shot back down Main Street on his bike. Callie’s heart swelled with love. What she wouldn’t give to have a child of her own. But since that obviously wasn’t about to happen any time soon, she thought, at least she had her candy store and the joy of being with children every day. “Cute kid,” Tobey said, walking around the front of her display counters to check out her displays. Callie jumped. She had almost forgotten that Tobey was there, invading her sanctuary with his ungodly sexiness. And she had almost forgotten, yet again, that her beloved store was in danger. And only The Candy King could save her. Enough is enough, she told herself firmly, her heart fluttering just because of Tobey’s intense presence in her store. You need to focus on business, not pleasure, she insisted, trying to get the wayward slut inside of her to obey her serious dictate. “Do you always give away candy like that?” Tobey’s tone was light, but she sensed an edge behind his words “Of course I do,” she replied. She hated that she felt like she needed to explain herself, but she said, “Kids love getting a little surprise.” Tobey stopped his perusal of her storefront. “And you like to surprise them?” he asked, pinning her with his hot gaze.
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Callie swallowed convulsively, but her mouth felt dry and her tongue refused to fit within the confines of her mouth. All she could do was nod. The silence in Callie’s Candies was almost a live being. Callie wished she knew what happened to her when Tobey was near, that way she might have had a chance in hell at fighting it. But when he finally said, “I like that about you, Callie. I like that a lot,” she knew she was irrevocably lost. “Lock the door,” she said, then turned and walked back into her storeroom. She heard the lock click shut and undid the button on her jacket. Shrugging out of the pink wool, she threw it onto her desk. She reached for the zipper on her skirt just as Tobey walked through the door. Still unable to look him in the eye, she let her skirt drop to the floor. Standing before Tobey in her seethrough white silk camisole and white silk thong panties, she said, “One more time. And then we’ll take care of business.”
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Chapter Four “Remind me again,” Callie said as she stamped her feet in the snow to stay warm. “Why are we doing this?” Tobey laughed and put the huge cooler he had been carrying into the snow on the edge of the rink. “Ice skaters love two things,” he said, taking a moment to admire how cute Callie looked in her form fitted pink down jacket and tight black ski pants. “Perfect ice, obviously, and, even more importantly, chocolate.” Callie humphed and rubbed her mittened hands together. “If I weren’t so cold I might care.” Tobey wanted to say, “I’ve got a surefire way to warm you up,” but he knew that given their business relationship, such obvious flirting was totally out of line. Even more than that, though, he wanted to suck that pouty lower lip of Callie’s into his mouth. It really was too bad that after leaving Callie’s Candies on Monday, after their crazy, perfect sex on the steel kitchen island in the middle of her store’s back kitchen, Tobey felt he had to make the only decision possible under the circumstances—to back off until Callie’s Candies was back in the black and running smoothly. It was perfectly all right to fuck Callie’s brains out before they discussed business, but once the first professional word had been spoken, Tobey felt that not touching Callie was the right thing to do. Not, of course, that he would hesitate to rip all of her clothes off and keep her naked in his bed for a week once their business transaction had ended. But for the time being, the last thing Tobey wanted was for Callie to think that the success of her business was in any way linked to whether or not she put out. For the past fifteen years he had always been the consummate professional with his clients. He didn’t mix business with pleasure, although, truth be told, he had never been tempted to lick cocoa powder off one of his clients before. In any case, given that this was his very last job in the candy business before the world of accounting took him in, he felt an even greater motivation to do his very best. Not to mention the fact that he had a very strong personal interest in his gorgeous, talented, oh-so-fuckable client. So he was going to stick to his decision. Even if it killed him. And just looking at the way Callie’s ass rounded up at him as she bent over to unlatch the cooler, Tobey was pretty damn sure that keeping his hands off the delectable little candy maker was, indeed, going to destroy him. But what a way to go. After their “meeting” on Monday, Tobey had spent the week holed up in his office day and night, working up a plan of money-making action for her. After looking through her books, he saw that although she was doing fairly well in sales, she was in such a high-rent district that she’d have to either move to another town or double her daily sales. Their conversation on this matter had been short and sweet. Tobey: “Have you thought about moving to another location?”
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Callie: “No.” Tobey: “The rent is lower and you wouldn’t have to worry about losing your shop.” Callie: “I grew up here and I’m staying here. Isn’t it your job to figure out a way to make that work?” Tobey grinned. Just looking at Callie, all blonde and small and round and pink, her fiery, sharp mind wasn’t inherently obvious. But it was there. Along with her ravenous sensuality. He couldn’t wait to finish the job so that he could get another taste of her incredible lovemaking. Plans for saving Callie’s Candies consumed him. He had already had a web site built for her at a reduced rate by his sister-in-law, who was one of the best in the business, by promising her all the truffles she could eat for the next decade. He was planning on trying the same trade with a hot public relations firm. Next week, he was going to look into national distribution through the major gourmet food chain stores. In any normal consultation situation, Tobey would have met with her again in person to run his ideas by her, but the sad truth was that he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself around her. Callie had said, “I want to focus on making candy,” and so Tobey was able to justify his unorthodox behavior of making do with phone calls by telling himself that it was how she wanted things to be. Somewhat wryly, he admitted that he might as well have met with Callie in person, considering that even though they had been apart for nearly a week he had been possessed by visions of her. Naked thighs and breasts spread across satin sheets. In the shower with soap suds dripping from her nipples. Tobey shook the vision from his head and went to work unrolling the new banner that spelled out www.calliescandies.com. He hung it from the roof of the gazebo where he and Callie were setting up shop. The gazebo was situated on the far edge of the large outdoor ice skating rink in Saratoga, less than a mile from the world famous racetracks. Based on his experience of taking his nieces and nephews skating over the years, Tobey knew that on Saturdays and Sundays in January, the rink was packed with kids of all ages and their parents. The perfect audience to spread the word about Callie’s incredible confections. Tobey stepped back to make sure that the banner was straight. Callie stepped beside him and he swore she was searing him even through all of their layers of clothes, even though it was freezing outside. “I’m still not sure about the web site,” Callie said. “Wouldn’t people rather come into the store?” Feeling incredibly protective towards his luscious client, Tobey wanted to allay her fears. “You’ve got a great store, Callie. It’s warm and inviting and who can resist your little surprises?” he said with a small suggestive smile. Tobey saw the responsive spark in Callie’s eyes and caught himself just in time before he lost sight of business altogether. Focus, buddy. Focus. He cleared his throat. “But what about people who don’t live in Saratoga and can’t get to your store on a regular basis?” Callie looked confused. “How would they even find out about my store in the first place?” “You see all of these people out here today?” Tobey asked, gesturing to the growing crowd of skaters that were sliding across the ice. “People are willing to drive quite a distance to skate
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at such a great outdoor rink. Not to mention the fact that locals often have friends or relatives visiting them for the holidays from out of town.” “And these people will love my truffles and hot cocoa so much that they’ll want to order more from my web site when they get home?” “Exactly,” Tobey said, pleased that Callie was letting herself be open to the array of possibilities for her business. Shyly she looked at him. “Thanks,” she said, her lips turning up in an uncertain smile. “I never would have thought to do any of this without you. The web site. Being here today. Getting plans together for a special Valentine’s Day gift box. It would have all seemed so hard without you.” Tobey tried to mask his delight at her thank you. He strode over to the cooler and opened it up, pulling out boxes of truffles and putting them on their sales table. Callie had no idea what hard was. Not in the least. His cock was huge and ready to plunge into her cunt. Even during their brief phone calls, he had gotten so overheated he’d had to walk out of his office in just his shirt and slacks until the cold weather had frozen him completely through. Only then could he concentrate on business again. Thirty minutes later, just before the doors to the rink opened up to the crowd that had gathered in the parking lot outside, Tobey and Callie had finished setting up the temporary Callie’s Candies booth, complete with steaming hot cocoa and truffles in ten different flavors. Callie had packed toffees, taffies and lollipops into small wicker baskets on the table. They took a few steps back to check over their candy display. “Looks great,” Callie said, not quite meeting his eyes. Tobey nodded and smiled at the top of her head. “It certainly does. The table is colorful and inviting. I’m certain that Callie’s Candies is going to make a huge splash with both the locals and the out-of-towners today.” Callie walked back to the table and fussed needlessly with the display. Tobey knew she was feeling nervous around him. The problem was, everything was said that needed to be said, and yet none of the important things were being said at all. Thus, an uncomfortable silence fell between them. It was taking every ounce of control for Tobey to keep his mind on business, when all he really wanted to do was strip off Callie’s winter clothes. It was so cold he was starting to add intense visions about hot tubs and saunas to his previous beach and bikini fantasies. Not for the first time that day, Tobey gave thanks that they were conducting their business together in the frigid outdoors. He didn’t think he could keep himself from tearing her clothes off if they were alone and indoors. Even as it was, the cold wasn’t working its magic on his overcharged libido. Callie’s pull was just too damn strong.
***** Callie looked at her watch and prayed that her twelve-year-old niece would show up already. She had asked Ellen to help them sell candy as a buffer. Being alone with Tobey was harder than she had ever thought it would be. And she had thought that it was going to be pretty damn hard.
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He was so dark and tall and gorgeous, her breath caught in her chest every time she looked at him. She wanted to drag him behind a tree and pull him down onto the fresh snow with her. She wanted to feel his heavy weight on her, his thick penis plunging in and out of her. But it didn’t matter what Callie wanted. Simply put, the facts were not in her favor. Fact: He was her hired consultant. It would be morally wrong for her to engage in sexual acts with one of her employees. Under no circumstances did she want him to feel that he had to sleep with her or else she’d bad mouth him in the candy industry. Fact: He wasn’t the least bit interested in her anyway, so all of the high and mighty morals she was desperately trying to cling to didn’t matter for much at all. She would have had to have been blind not to notice that since the day they had fucked in her kitchen, he had made it a point to keep away from her. Even his phone calls were oh-so-brief, as if he could hardly stand to talk to her again. Every time she thought about the way she had stuck her tongue down his throat in her store, with absolutely no provocation on his part, every time she remembered the way she had stripped off her clothes and begged him to touch her, Callie felt more and more ashamed by her behavior. “Aunt Callie, I’m here.” Callie spun around and hugged her little teenage salvation just a little too hard. “Ouch.” “Sorry, honey. I’m just so glad to see you.” Ellen raised an eyebrow, looking far older than twelve. “Yeah. Whatever. Hey,” she said, elbowing Callie in the ribs, “who’s the hot guy? Your new boyfriend?” Callie turned a hundred shades of pink. “No,” she insisted, but Tobey was already making the introductions. “I’m Tobey,” he said, as he reached out his hand to shake Ellen’s. “I’ve been working with Callie on her business. I’m a candy company consultant.” Ellen smiled and then looked back at Callie. “That’s cool. I’m Ellen,” she said. Callie thought she was off the hook, but then Ellen added, “I just thought you were her new boyfriend or something, ‘cause she always goes for guys who look like you.” Tobey grinned and trapped Callie with his hot gaze before turning back to Ellen for more information. “So Callie likes guys who look like me, huh?” Ellen shrugged. “Big. Brown hair. Lots of muscles. They usually treat her like dirt, though, so I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t her boyfriend after all.” Not realizing that she’d said anything out of line at all, Ellen turned to Callie, “So, what do you need me to do?” Callie was having trouble keeping on her feet at that moment, so she certainly couldn’t open up her mouth to reply. Tobey, bless his heart, stepped in and saved her. “We need your help selling the candy and the hot cocoa on the table. Make sure that you tell everyone who buys something about the web site and hand them one of Callie’s cards.” Ellen nodded. “That sounds easy.” She looked up and saw the web site address on the banner. “When did you get a web site, Callie? I’ll check it out when I get home. You’re practically gonna be famous now.” Callie still couldn’t get any of her synapses to fire. Ellen’s words kept playing in her head. They usually treat her like dirt, so I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t her boyfriend after all.
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Was she really that bad at choosing boyfriends? How sad it was that she was only getting a clear picture of her bad choices out of the mouth of a babe. The doors to the rink opened and within a matter of minutes, Callie, Tobey and Ellen were swarmed with skaters. People started with the hot chocolate to try and warm up, but then after they exclaimed with rapture over the exotic flavor of Callie’s cocoa, and after the adults inquired about purchasing the mix to take home, people turned to truffles and toffee and taffy. Tobey made several trips to Callie’s car as their boxes of backup supplies quickly disappeared. Between bites of candy and sips of cocoa, Callie heard snippets of conversation: “Did you know that she has a web site?” and “I’m going to tell all of my friends out in California about her.” and “This is the best truffle I’ve ever had. I wonder if she does gift baskets?” Between sales Callie stole glances at Tobey. Her breath went as she watched him joke with the customers. He was so warm and engaging, he had everyone eating out of his hands. She had to hand it to him. He had most certainly earned his Candy King title. His love for candy came through in everything he did and his quick mind and charming personality sealed the deal. It was too bad he obviously didn’t want to kiss her ever again. Because she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do more.
***** Several hours later, when the initial crowds had finally died down and Callie was busy mixing up a new batch of hot cocoa, Tobey whispered to Ellen, “Can you hold down the fort for a little while? Your Aunt Callie didn’t want to leave you here all alone, but she’s been dying to go ice skating with me. And you’ve been doing the best job out of the three of us. I know a candy selling natural when I see one.” Ellen nodded, clearly pleased to be left in charge of the Callie’s Candies booth. “Sure thing, Tobey,” she whispered back. “By the way, I think Aunt Callie kind of likes you.” “Really?” he whispered back, enjoying the conspiracy. “What makes you say that?” “Every time she looks at you she gets all dreamy eyed.” Tobey grinned and started to get up, but Ellen grabbed the elbow of his jacket. “You’re not gonna break her heart too, are you?” Tobey sat back down, suddenly serious. “I don’t intend to.” Ellen stared him down and he was surprised by the intensity in her young eyes. “Promise? ‘Cause I really like you.” Callie’s niece sure loved her, Tobey thought, to be giving out such stern warnings to prospective boyfriends. His face solemn, he said, “I promise. And I really like you too.” Ellen grinned and turned to greet a new customer who had just walked up to the table. Tobey waited until Callie put the top back on her metal pot of cocoa and then grabbed her hand. “What’s going on?” she asked, trying to pull her hand back out of his. “Where are we going?” Over his shoulder he said, “It’s time for a little break, Miss Callie.” “A break? Now? But what about Ellen?” “Ellen’s got it covered. Now tell me,” he said, “What size are you?”
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Callie flushed and looked down at her chest. “What size am I? What kind of a question is that?” Tobey mock-leared at her breasts. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Miss Callie.” She turned pink and he said, “What size shoe do you wear?” “Six, but what does it have to do with…” Her words fell away as he let go of her hand and picked up one set of rental skates in a six for her and twelve for himself. Dangling the skates from his fingertips he said, “You and I are going skating.” Callie shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Tobey grabbed her hand again and steered her over to a bench. “Put ‘em on. Consultant’s orders.” Callie giggled uncertainly, but took the skates from him. Staring at them, she said, “I haven’t skated in years.” “No time like the present,” Tobey said, as he quickly removed his shoes and slipped his feet into the skates. “Besides, you deserve a reward for all of your hard work today.” Tobey hoped that Callie would let herself have a little fun. With him. He saw her shoulders relax a little and breathed out an inaudible sigh of relief. And when she shot him her pixie grin, he made a new decision—to forget all about his earlier decision about not mixing business with pleasure. If ever there was a time for pleasure, it was now. And by god, he was going to take it.
***** Callie had just finished tying the laces on her skates when Tobey whirled her out onto the crowded ice skating rink. Her legs wobbled beneath her and she found herself holding onto Tobey just a little too tightly. “I need to get my skating legs back,” she said by way of explanation, letting herself enjoy the feel of Tobey’s warmth pressed up against hers while she could. He had one arm firmly wrapped around her waist and she could feel his warm breath on her forehead. His arms were heaven to her. “No rush,” he said, pulling her closer to him. They skated several circles around the rink in a comfortable rhythm and for the first time all day Callie let down her guard. If she was able to contain her raging hormones even now, she thought she just might be able to keep it together until she could get home and play with the new dildo she had bought on Tuesday. Cold vibrating plastic wasn’t nearly as good as Tobey, but Callie was realistic enough to accept that it would have to do. Suddenly, Tobey steered them over to the far, deserted edge of the rink and pointed to the sky. “Did you see that bald eagle over there?” “Where?” Callie shaded her eyes with her hands, but all she could see on the pine trees was white powder from the fresh snowfall. “In the forest. Come with me.” Tobey grabbed her hand and pulled her into the dense forest with him. Callie’s skates sank into the snow, but Tobey was moving so fast, she didn’t have a chance to get stuck as she tried to keep up. 34
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By the time he stopped, they were far enough from the skating rink that the sounds of children playing had completely faded away. Not letting go of her hand, he turned and looked into her eyes. “I guess he flew away.” Callie found herself laughing. “Was there really a bald eagle out here?” Tobey pulled her into him and leaned his face down close to hers. “Maybe there was, but all I’ve been able to focus on today is you.” Callie breathed in his scent, unable to mask the raw need his words aroused. “Don’t tease me Tobey,” she said, her voice thick. “Not even if it makes you feel good?” “How good?” Callie felt the familiar liquid rush building up between her legs, pooling at the tip of her breasts. “Let me show you.” He guided her over to a patch of ground far beneath the huge canopy of an oak tree and pressed her back into the bark of the tree, then leaned into her, shielding her from the cold. “One day we’re going to have to do this lying down. Properly. Warm and cozy in bed.” Callie shivered at the thought of getting to do this with Tobey one more time. In a bed, even. It was too delicious to believe. But then again so was the velvet feel of his lips as they stole her breath away. Feeling bold, she said between kisses, “I like doing it standing up. I like being bad with you.” Tobey smiled against her lips. “Me too, sweetheart. I love the way you wrap your legs around me. How slick you get when I’m pumping in and out of you. How ready you are for me all the time.” Callie swallowed and licked her lips. “I’m ready now,” she whispered. Deftly he threw his gloves to the ground and unbuttoned the fly on her snow pants. Unzipping them, he slid his warm hands onto the soft skin of her belly. “I need to see if you’re telling the truth,” he said as his hand dropped another inch, just grazing the edge of her already damp mons. “Mmm,” he murmured against her ear lobe, sucking it into his mouth, “good so far.” The feel of his mouth against her brought goose bumps to her skin that had nothing to do with the cold. She arched her hips into his hands, forcing his fingers to slide across her swollen nub into her wet folds. “Oh god,” she moaned. “I want to see you come again, Callie,” he said. He made several slow, torturous circles on her clit and then slipped his fingers down into her labia, finally pushing her open with one thick finger. Callie drove her hips into his hand. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he said against her lips and Callie, who wanted to please him more than anything else in the world, felt everything inside and outside of her go perfectly still, as if the whole universe was waiting for her to explode. Tobey’s hand stilled. He looked into her eyes. One simple word, “Now,” was all it took. She closed her eyes as the earth starting spinning fast, too fast. She came out of her body and lifted higher and higher. Everything turned red, then black, as pleasure coursed through her.
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And then she was kissing Tobey and he was kissing her back, their lips mating in perfect rhythm to her waves of ecstasy. Tobey quickly stripped off his winter coat and laid it on the ground, seemingly impervious to the cold. Gently, he lowered Callie onto it. She lay back on her elbows and looked at him, excitement making her breath come out in short, quick white puffs of air. “I wish I could take off all of your clothes and see you naked,” he said as he pulled her pants and soaked panties down far enough to spread her thighs. “Later,” she moaned, not feeling the least bit inhibited about lying in the snow in the forest, naked from her waist to her ankles. Tobey nodded. “Later,” he echoed as he bent his head over her mound, lapping at her sweetness with his tongue. He ran his tongue up her lips, from her anus to her clit, giving equal importance to every square inch of engorged flesh. Callie arched up into his mouth. She felt like she could come and come and come and come and it still wouldn’t take the edge off her arousal. Tobey slipped his tongue inside of her vagina in one firm, long stroke and then another. Callie gasped and her muscles clenched around his tongue. His thumb found her clit and he plunged his tongue in and out of her as he swirled her firm bead. She cried out as the orgasm ripped through her, her cries muted by the thick canopy of the pine tree. Tobey replaced his tongue with two fingers and sucked her clit into his mouth, faster and faster, harder and harder. Callie writhed beneath him, her fingers tangled in his thick brown hair as she pushed his mouth harder to her. She was tumbling through space, dizzy with pleasure. Tobey reared up over Callie, pushing her thighs open just a little more so that he could kneel between her legs. Callie opened her eyes and saw his perfect cock, so hard and pushing out from his dark pubic hair, already sheathed within a condom. She wanted to reach out her hand to stroke him, to fill her small hand with the heavy weight of his shaft, but before she could even think about taking off her gloves, he was unzipping her coat and running his hands over her turtleneck, teasing her taut peaks and plunging his hips into hers. “Squeeze your thighs together,” he said. Callie barely managed to obey him, she was so concentrated on the feel of Tobey over her. On her. In her. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders to pull him closer to her while she squeezed her thighs together as tight as she could. She felt his cock growing impossibly bigger within her with every stroke and suddenly she was floating and he was coming and saying her name and she was moving with him, bucking her hips up off the blanket of his jacket, trying to get closer to him, as close as she could possibly get.
***** Afraid of crushing Callie, Tobey tried to prop his weight up on his forearms, but she was holding him so tightly to her that he decided to just let himself go. He rolled them over slightly, so that he was cradling her in his arms, their bodies still joined together. The truth hit him like a bolt of lightning. He was in love with her.
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He had never been so sexually compatible with any woman, but it was more than just the sex that made him so positive that Callie was the one. She was funny and bright and just seeing her smile made him want to do or say something to make her smile again. Callie’s breathing began to slow to normal and he rubbed her back, savoring the feeling of having found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He knew they needed to get back to the rink, but he didn’t want to move too fast, to fall back into real life. He slowly pulled out and zipped his pants back up. Callie blinked and then fumbled for her snow pants. Pulling her to her feet, Tobey took care of getting her back in order within seconds. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and slow and sweet with all of the love he had in him. “This isn’t a one-night stand,” he said, his voice firm and tender all at the same time. Callie smiled back at him and covered his hands with her own. “I know.”
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Chapter Five The next two weeks were the best weeks of Callie’s life. After their incredible lovemaking in the forest, they had gone back to the rink to pack up her sales table. Much to Callie’s surprise, Tobey had insisted that they talk about their relationship. She had never met a man like him before, one who was willing to broach difficult subjects. Every man she’d ever known before had hidden from emotions, had ignored anything that wasn’t cut and dry. “I want to date you,” he said, and she said, “Me too.” “I know I’m working for you,” he said, and she said, “And I’ve hired you.” “I want to be your lover as well as your business associate,” he said, and she said, “Thank god.” They had both laughed and suddenly the air was clear and full of endless possibilities. Not only was Callie constantly glowing with joy, but her business was growing by leaps and bounds as well, with a huge spike in business from Internet orders. One night after a romantic dinner at her house where they had done more hand-holding and kissing than eating, Callie said, “You really are the Candy King, you know,” her tone teasing. Tobey stiffened slightly at her words, but then relaxed again so quickly she was certain that she had imagined it. “How did you know that you were so darn good at selling candy?” she asked. Tobey kissed her on her neck, right below her ear, in just the way that was guaranteed to make her nipples hard and aching. “You don’t want to hear about my boring business,” he said, trying to coax her into another incredible sexual interlude, his palm coming to cup her between her thighs, searing her with his heat even through her jeans. But even though Callie was already responding to his touch, her breasts heavy, her mons throbbing, Callie had had enough of his putting her off. Last night after making love in her bathtub, she had finally realized that whenever she asked him questions about his company, he deftly changed the subject. Usually by kissing or touching her, until she was naked and coming beneath him, all thoughts of business gone. Callie scooted away from Tobey on the couch, hating how empty she felt without his touch, but knowing they needed to have this conversation more than they needed to have sex. “Why do you keep pushing me away?” Tobey looked at the empty place on the couch where Callie had been just seconds before and then up at Callie, now several feet away from him. His voice gruff, he said, “What are you talking about?” Callie sighed. “Every time I bring up your business, you change the subject. For the past two weeks all we’ve talked about is Callie’s Candies.” Her voice softened. “I want to find out more about you, Tobey.”
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When she felt Tobey tense, Callie scooted back into the circle of his arms and planted several kisses on his forearms and hands, pulling his strong arms around her. Tobey’s muscles relaxed slightly. But still, he didn’t offer Callie any information about his past. Trying to hide her growing exasperation, Callie said, “What was your favorite kind of candy when you were a kid?” Tobey, who was clearly surprised by her innocuous question, laughed. “That’s easy,” he said, as he let his guard down. “Necco Wafers.” Sticking her tongue out, Callie scrunched her face up. “Yuck,” she said. He tickled her stomach playfully and the fuzzy feeling throughout Callie’s body intensified. It was taking everything she had not to forget the whole conversation and just fuck his brains out instead. She could feel his large erection pushing into her bottom, and she wriggled up against him. “They’re sweet and sort of chalky,” he whispered in her ear. “Just like somebody I know, minus the chalk of course. All sweetness.” Callie sucked in a breath as his fingers moved to the curve of her breast. She laughed, but the sound was breathy and aroused. “That was a close one, buddy,” she said. “I don’t know any women who like to be compared to tasteless chalk.” Keep him talking, she told herself, but at this point, she wished that he would talk a little faster so that she could tear off all of his clothes and take his cock into her mouth. Callie had always thought that patience was one of her strong suits—after all, she dealt with children as customers on a daily basis—but in the silence that ensued, where all she could hear was the crackling wood on the fire and Wolf’s heavy dog breathing, she realized how wrong she was. She was about to give up on ever finding anything out about Tobey’s past when his hand stilled on her breast. “I worked for Mr. Jonas after school at his grocery store. He had a small candy section in the corner and he put me in charge of it.” Aha, now they were getting somewhere. “Free candy?” Tobey grinned against the top of her head and he scooted her in more snugly against his lap. “All I could eat. I started arranging things differently, putting up new signs, created some package deals, and by the time I graduated from high school, Mr. Jonas’s candy store was about ten times bigger.” “And then?” He sighed. “And then I went to college, got an MBA with a focus in food retailing, and the rest,” he said with a note of finality, “is history. Now let’s good to the good stuff.” Callie tilted her head up and reached around behind her to lace her fingers into his thick dark hair. Pressing her lips to his, she kissed him with all of the growing love in her heart. She wasn’t ready to say the words to him yet, but every time she touched him she knew that her feelings were obvious. “Thank you for telling me all that,” she said, her lips bruised with their passionate kisses. Tobey leaned down and licked her full lower lip. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Callie shivered. She loved it when he called her sweetheart. Even though they’d only been formally dating for two weeks, she felt closer to him than she ever had to another person. She
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had shared her body and soul with Tobey and somewhere in the back of her head she knew she wanted to continue doing so for the rest of her life. She was so relaxed and content in his arms that when he said, “Now is probably a good time to tell you that I’m closing my business and going to work with my brother,” she jumped with surprise and the top of her head knocked into his chin, clacking his teeth together. She spun out of his arms. “You’re doing what?” Tobey’s face instantly turned from loving to grim in the space of a heartbeat. “You’re my last client.” Callie forgot all about being supportive and gentle in her shock. “Why would you do something like that?” His eyes steel, he said, “It’s time to finally grow up.” “What are you talking about? You have a wonderful business. And from working with you, I know for a fact that you love what you do.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you planning to do instead?” Tobey nearly winced. “Accounting.” Callie’s eyes grew wide. “Excuse me? I must have heard you wrong. I thought my talented, creative boyfriend just said he’s going to give up his dream job to go into accounting.” Tobey got up off the couch and headed for the door. “You heard right. My brother Jed is going to bring me into his department.” His voice was hard and Wolf, who was lying on the rug in front of the roaring fireplace, whined. Looking angry and hurt, Tobey said, “I’ll call you later.” He walked out the front door and closed it behind him with a deliberate click. The tears that were welling in Callie’s eyes started to fall. Wolf got up and padded over to her, licking her face several times before plopping his head on her lap. “I’ve really blown it this time, Wolf,” she said, her heart heavy. “No wonder I always date jerks. The one time I find a great guy I drive him away.” Callie scooted out from underneath Wolf’s head. She walked into her kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for cocoa fudge. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, not for one single minute, not with the distressed look on Tobey’s face playing in her head on repeat every five seconds. The only thing that would keep her from going crazy would be baking. She wiped at the tears on her cheeks and put on her apron. “Here I am again,” she said aloud in her empty kitchen. “Just me, my dog, and sugar.”
***** By the time Tobey got back to his large loft, his anger was gone. All he felt was a deep sense of shame at the way he had treated Callie. She had called him her boyfriend, a word that made him feel better than any industry award ever had, and he had stomped out of her home in a huff. Idiot. He dropped his keys onto the slate kitchen island and looked around his home with new eyes. He had always thought that he was suited to the hard lines of glass and concrete and slate, but after spending so much time at both Callie’s homey store and her cute cottage on the outskirts of town he found that he was craving softness. And color. And comfort. What he
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wouldn’t give to be back in Callie’s house, kissing her in front of the fire, with her big mutt lying at their feet snoring.
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Chapter Six The next day Tobey walked into Callie’s Candies holding a bright bouquet of yellow and white narcissus. She was down on the ground with her back to the front door, helping a couple of little girls pick out a gift for their mother’s birthday while their father watched with pride. “Mommies love these boxes of truffles,” she said to the girls as she showed them a heart shaped box with a thick velvet ribbon on top. The two girls solemnly nodded their agreement and handed her a five dollar bill. Just as solemnly, treating them as if they were forty-year-old women buying thousands of dollars of merchandise instead of little kids, Callie took their money and walked around to her register. Tobey noted that her eyes and face looked swollen and puffy and inwardly cursed himself. He had done that to her with his callous, selfish behavior. Right then and there he vowed never to treat her badly ever again. When Callie looked up and saw him standing awkwardly by the door, holding the flowers as an obvious peace offering, she nearly dropped the box of truffles on the floor. She caught the box in mid-air and placed it on her gift-wrapping table, her hands shaky. She gave him a tremulous smile and was about to say something when Tobey smiled back and leaned against the wall, making it clear that he could wait until she was done helping the girls. Callie finished wrapping the truffles with trembling fingers. She handed the girls a lollipop each and then followed them with her eyes as they took their father’s hand and skipped out the door. Tobey approached her at the same time that she ran around the counter. Their words intermingled, “I’m so sorry,” he said, and she said, “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” He handed her the bouquet and she clutched them to her chest as if they were more valuable to her than gold or diamonds. “Can you forgive me?” Tobey stroked her cheek with his fingers. “What did I ever do right to deserve you?” Callie shook her head. “I’m the lucky one. And I want you to know that I’ll always support you. Whatever you do, I’ll still love you,” she said. She gasped and took a step back into the counter, dropping the flowers onto the floor as she realized what she’d just said. Tobey closed the space between them, stepping into the circle of flowers on the floor. “I love you too,” he said and then dipped his mouth to hers. He buried his hands in Callie’s soft curls and tasted her sweetness. Her hands wrapped around him and she pulled him tightly to her. Even the bell ringing on the door to the shop, indicating that a customer had entered, was not enough for either of them to want to pull away from each other. “Ahem,” a firm voice said from behind Tobey’s back. He pulled away from Callie’s sweet lips and groaned, knowing that voice could only belong to one person. Looking over his shoulder he said, “Alice.” Shaking her head as if they were two kids goofing around during class, Alice said, “I thought I might find you here.”
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Callie slid out from Tobey’s arms and held out her hand, looking charmingly disheveled. “I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, Alice.” Callie blushed and said, “Under different circumstances, of course.” Alice yielded slightly under the weight of Callie’s charm and shook her hand. Turning back to Tobey, the older woman said, “I’d like to know if you think your behavior is going to sell more candy in this store, or less? You’ve got an important phone call to return in the office.” Tobey grinned shamelessly and held his hands up in defeat. “Point taken, sergeant.” He leaned over the counter and placed another quick kiss on Callie’s lips. “Are we still on for dinner tonight? My family has been dying to meet you.” Callie whispered, “I can’t wait,” and they made do with one more quick peck. Callie stood in the store alone with Alice, feeling more nervous than she had since she was a schoolgirl. But Alice wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “I’ll get straight to the point,” Alice said and Callie nodded, her heart pounding even though she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. Trying to break the ice, Callie interrupted and said, “Can I offer you anything first? Maybe some hot cocoa and a truffle?” Alice looked momentarily flustered. “Why yes,” she said. “I could use a hot drink to warm my bones.” Callie went to pour her a steaming cup and Alice said, “And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love a truffle. I had one last year and I still haven’t forgotten it.” Callie breathed a sigh of relief. Tobey’s assistant seemed a whole lot less scary when she had chocolate smudged on her lips. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she said, after Alice had bitten into the truffle with a sound of delight. Alice held up her hand, making it clear that she wanted to finish the chocolate in silence. Callie grinned, pleased that her candy made people so happy. But her grin fell away as Alice said, “I wasn’t sure that I approved of your relationship with Tobey at first—it is unprofessional for a consultant to date his client, after all—but now I can see that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him in some time.” Callie was frozen where she stood. Alice continued, “I love him like a son and he’s about to make the biggest mistake of his life. I want you to stop him.” Her brain struggled to catch up. “Do you mean how he’s closing his business?” Alice nodded, her lips tight again in disapproval. “Has he talked to you about it?” Callie asked. “No. But that boy can’t hide anything from me. Never could, never will. I’ve known for months. But I also know that he hasn’t made it official yet by firing me because he doesn’t want to shut down his dreams.” Callie shook her head. “Alice, I appreciate you coming here to try and help Tobey, but I don’t think he’s going to listen to me.” Alice’s eyes were bright. “Honey, that’s where you’re wrong. You could tell him to jump off of a cliff and he’d do it. It’s up to you to make sure he doesn’t make the biggest mistake of his life. I’m counting on you.”
*****
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That night as Callie sat in the chic new restaurant surrounded by Tobey’s parents and his brother and wife, she was still trying to get Alice’s words out of her head. He doesn’t want to do it. It’s up to you to make sure he doesn’t make the biggest mistake of his life. I’m counting on you. Callie tried to focus on getting to know Tobey’s relatives, all the while wondering when things had become so complicated. One day she was happily running her business and the next she was dating a passionate, complex man who was turning both her little store and her life upside down. Everything was getting so big, so fast. Tobey’s mother, Joan, turned to her and said, “So you’re the famous Callie from Callie’s Candies?” Callie blushed. “I don’t know about famous.” Joan waved her hand in the air. “Nonsense. My women’s group has been enjoying your truffles for years. And besides,” she said, lowering her voice, “John and I haven’t heard about anything else for weeks.” Callie stuttered unintelligible monosyllables, but Joan wasn’t expecting a response. “John and I think it is just perfect that you and Tobey found each other. Two candy lovers who are obviously in love with each other.” Callie had to clamp her teeth together to keep her mouth from falling open. She tried to smile, but she was sure her attempt looked pathetic. Thankfully, Joan was drawn into a conversation with her husband and Tobey. Callie turned to Tobey’s older brother, Jed, with relief. Jed leered at her and she barely repressed a shudder as she took in his beady eyes, oily hair, and bad breath. His wife, a thin dour woman, sat like a mouse beside him. Her eyes were glassy and Callie didn’t envy the woman one bit. “So you own a candy store,” he said, more a statement than a question. His words struck her as being almost snide and she was sure that she must have misread his intentions. “That’s right. Callie’s Candies is just down the street.” Jed rolled his eyes. “Candy,” he scoffed. “Good thing my brother has finally come to his senses.” Callie sucked in a breath. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice soft and still, working hard not to betray her growing anger. How could it be, she wondered, that Tobey and Jed were related by blood? They were polar opposites. “I’ve worked on him for years to join me in the accounting firm. Something he’ll finally get some respect for. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be related to the Candy King?” The words ‘Candy King’ sounded like spoilt milk coming out of Jed’s mouth. Callie curled her fingers tightly into her fist, fighting the overpowering urge to punch Tobey’s jerk of a brother in his fat mouth. “No. I don’t,” she said, deciding her only hope was to humor Jed until dinner was over. As she nodded in all the right places during Jed’s endless discourse on his importance and value as a high-powered accountant, everything became crystal clear to Callie. Jed was jealous of Tobey’s success and happiness. Obviously, Jed was the one that had been putting pressure on Tobey to “finally grow up,” since Tobey’s parents clearly loved and supported him in his career choice. She knew they were proud of him, just as they somehow managed to be proud of their other brute of a son.
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It was as if a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. She knew what she needed to say to Tobey. Maybe, just maybe, she would have a fighting chance at succeeding at convincing him to keep Sweet Returns in business. Callie planted a smile on her face and knew that nothing else Jed said to her tonight was going to bring her down. She would keep up the small talk when she had to and focus most of her attention on getting to know Tobey’s wonderful parents better. Whatever she had to put up with to be with Tobey was worth it.
***** Tobey sat back and watched Callie charm his family just as she charmed every single person she came in contact with. Even his brother, who could be somewhat standoffish with strangers, was talking animatedly to her. “Being the VP at an accounting firm is a big responsibility,” Jed said, his chest puffed up with pride at his accomplishments. Tobey shook his head as he caught snippets of Jed’s conversation with Callie. Tobey didn’t begrudge Jed any of his success, but sometimes Tobey thought he rode the fine line between pride and arrogance. Thank god, Tobey thought, that Callie didn’t care about stuff like that. She just wanted him to be happy. Callie leaned in towards his brother and said, “Wow. Your job sounds really exciting. And important.” Tobey blinked hard a couple of times. What the hell was she saying? Jed’s job sounded important? And exciting? Jed said something in response which Tobey couldn’t hear, but he couldn’t miss Callie’s impressed response. “That figure was your bonus for last year? Wow. I didn’t know accountants did quite so well.” Suddenly the room felt too small and Tobey grabbed at his tie to loosen it from around his neck. As the awful truth crashed in around him, he could no longer breathe. He shot up out of his chair without a word to anyone and made it as far as the parking lot before he bowled over into a hedge of snow covered boxwood and threw up. He could hardly believe what he had heard, even though now that he had seen the evidence for himself, there was no denying it. Callie wasn’t the woman he thought she was. Instead of the cute, sweet, supportive woman he thought he loved, instead of the woman who looked at a bouquet of flowers as more precious than jewels, she was a power-grubbing bitch, just like his ex-fiancée had been. Tobey got in his Ferrari and sped off into the night, leaving behind the woman who had broken his heart forever.
***** Callie nodded absently at Jed’s bragging—he didn’t require any help from her to prod his boasting into the stratosphere—wondering where Tobey had rushed off to without a word to anyone. When he had been gone more than five minutes, she excused herself and asked the host to check the men’s restroom. But Tobey was gone.
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Callie slumped into the coat rack, wondering what had happened. One minute everything was great, the next minute Tobey was gone. She went back to the table and asked his parents, “Did Tobey say anything to you about needing to leave early?” His mother and father shook their heads, looking worried. “No. I wonder if something he ate didn’t agree with him?” Callie murmured something that was supposed to be comforting, but her heart wasn’t it in. Her boyfriend had walked out on her for the second time in twenty-four hours. She fought back the tears that threatened to spill, not wanting his family to see her looking so pathetic. Jed, clueless as ever, sneered and said, “Geez. The dumb little brother of mine doesn’t even know how to take care of his lady.” Something inside Callie snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about your brother,” she said and then turned and walked out the restaurant. Once she made it out the front door, she ran down the street until she could find an alley to hide in. Sniffling, Callie didn’t want to give into the awful misery that was sucking her in. He didn’t want her. No man who was worth anything had ever wanted her. Callie had been dumped before, but this time, she realized, everything was different. He had said he loved her. No one had ever said that before. And by god, she was going to fight for him. Even if it killed them both.
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Chapter Seven Callie walked the three blocks to Tobey’s loft in a driving rain. She didn’t care that she was getting soaked to the bone. She didn’t care that her teeth were shattering. Love like this only came once in a lifetime, and no matter what Callie had to do, she wasn’t going to let it go. Her hand a tight, frozen fist, Callie banged on Tobey’s steel door with all of her might. When he didn’t answer immediately, she banged again, using the pain of the crashing of her bone and flesh against metal as a reminder of all that she was fighting for. Of what she was fighting against. The rain poured down on Tobey’s front stoop in sheets and still Tobey didn’t answer the door. Intent on waiting for him for as long as it took, Callie slid down to the floor, shivering in her thin sheath dress and heels. She wrapped her arms tightly around her and rocked back and forth, finally letting the tears that she had been holding back merge with the streaks of rain across her face.
***** Tobey pushed his Ferrari as hard as it would go on the farm roads outside of Saratoga. On a night like this, where the hail was as big as his fist, everyone else had the sense to keep off the roads. Which suited Tobey just fine as he watched his speedometer inch past eighty, then ninety, then one hundred. He drove like a madman, heedless of his own safety, until finally he skidded to a stop, narrowly missing both a large deer and a deep ditch. His heart was pounding in his chest. “No,” he cried in the car, the sound harsh and wild, like an animal that has lost its mate. Laughing bitterly at what a fool he had been, not once but twice, he gripped the wheel tightly and skidded back onto the road, heading for home. He was going to drown his sorrow in anything other than tequila—Tobey was never going to drink tequila again, all it did was remind him of Callie’s taste, of Callie’s treachery—and then he was going to take care of something he had been putting off for too long. He was going to shut down Sweet Returns. What did he need with true love and a job he loved anyway, he asked himself. All they’d ever done was cause him trouble. Tobey came to a screeching halt in front of his loft and flew out of his car, unable to believe what he was seeing. Callie was curled up like a sick child on his front steps, her eyes clenched tightly shut to keep out the rain, her bare skin full of red welts from the hail. His anger forgotten in his fear, Tobey ran to her and picked her up in his arms. Murmuring sounds of comfort into her hair, trying desperately to warm her with his heat, he fumbled with the lock in the door. Finally managing to get it open he hurried inside and kicked the door shut. “I’m so cold, Tobey. So cold,” Callie said through the loud clacking of her teeth. Goosebumps covered her skin and Tobey hugged her tighter to him.
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“I’m going to run a hot bath for you, sweetheart,” he said, flinching as the endearment slipped from his lips. Nonetheless he felt compelled to comfort her. “Once I take these wet clothes off of you, I promise you’ll feel better.” Callie didn’t say anything, she just shivered and looked up into his eyes as if she was trying to tell him something important. But Tobey couldn’t let himself think about anything other than getting Callie warm. Otherwise he would have to face anger and pain and hurt so strong he thought he might never laugh or smile again. Sitting on the wide rim of his large whirlpool tub, still cradling Callie in his lap, he leaned over and turned the knobs until steaming water was pouring into the tub. Quickly he stripped her dress off and as he undid the clasp of her bra and slid it from her shoulders, he tried not to notice that her breasts were tight and her nipples were hard buds from the cold. He stripped her panties from her legs and forced himself to ignore the pull her mons had on him, to ignore how much he wanted to bury his face between her lips and taste her one more time to memorize her before he let her go forever. Gently, Tobey lowered Callie into the tub. His hand brushed the soft mound of her breasts and he heard her gasp. Knowing it was wrong, hating himself for being so out of control, Tobey leaned into her and took one of her nipples in his mouth, suckling hard, wanting to punish and pleasure her in equal parts. Callie arched up into his mouth, and threaded her fingers behind his head. With a groan that hid none of his anger at himself or at her, he pulled away from her and ripped off his own wet clothes. Callie reached her arms up to him and within seconds he was naked and between her legs and pumping into her. “I love you, Tobey,” she cried as her wet, slick canal throbbed around his cock. Tobey tried to block out her words. He tried to concentrate on the wet warmth that encased his penis, her huge, perfect breasts rubbing against his chest, her round ass in his hands as he pounded in and out of her. But even as he tried to use her for his pleasure, he couldn’t escape the truth. Cupping her cheeks with his hands, Tobey stilled. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you,” he said again and then thrust into her hard. In the space of one heartbeat, they both came apart. After the madness had subsided, the water sloshed around them in the tub and Tobey pulled away from Callie. “Don’t leave me again,” she said. “We need to talk.” Tobey stood up and water poured off of him into the tub. “Fine,” he said, trying to rouse his anger at Callie again. “Talk.” He grabbed a towel and roughly dried himself off. Callie stood up too and grabbed a towel. “Why did you leave the restaurant like that?” Tobey answered her question with a question. “Why did you lie to me?” Callie sat heavily on the rim off the tub. “I’ve never lied to you.” “Bullshit,” Tobey said, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I saw the way you were fawning all over my brother.” His voice grew high pitched as he imitated her. “Your job sounds really exciting and important.” Tobey snarled then resumed his parody. “Wow, I didn’t know accountants made so much money.” Callie gasped in outrage. “How dare you make me sound like, like…like such a moneygrubbing bitch.” Tobey grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to stand face to face with him. “Isn’t that what you are? Haven’t you just been playing at being the nice little candy maker, pretending
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you wanted me to live my dreams, when all along you just wanted money. And power. Just like Gina.” Callie’s fighting stance fell away. “Gina? Who’s Gina?” Tobey let go of her shoulders, trying not to wince at the red marks his fingers had left on her smooth skin. “My ex.” Callie’s voice was soft. “You’ve never mentioned any ex before.” His voice low, Tobey said, “She left me at the altar. On the day of our wedding.” Callie took a step closer to Tobey and put her hand on his arm asking, “Why?” Tobey pushed her comfort away and stepped out of the tub with a harsh laugh. “You should understand her motives perfectly. After all, who would want to be married to the Candy King?” Callie licked her lips and swallowed once before saying, softly, “I would, Tobey.” Tobey turned back to her, anguish etched in the lines of his face. “No, Callie, you don’t. You want me to be just like Jed, just like she did. Just like everyone does.” Carefully stepping out of the tub, Callie came toe to toe with Tobey. “Your brother is jealous of you, Tobey. I was stroking his ego in the hopes that he would shut up so that I could get to know your parents better. I thought you knew me better than that,” she said, her voice shaky. “I thought you knew how much I love you for being you.” The tears were rolling down her cheeks and she wiped at them angrily. Everything in her was telling her to run away, to leave Tobey, to give up on them. But Callie knew it was the coward’s way out. She had vowed to fight for their love and now she was being put to the ultimate test. Tobey didn’t say anything, he just clenched his eyes shut, so Callie forced herself to keep talking, hoping that she could keep him from leaving again, hoping that something she said would break down the walls of hurt he had built up so long ago. “I’m not the only one who’s proud of you, Tobey. Your parents are incredibly proud of you. Alice loves you like a son and it’s been killing her to watch you try and shut down something so beautiful that you created from love.” Tobey’s eyes opened with surprise. “How do you know these things?” Callie reached out a hand to his chin and was so glad when he didn’t push her away. “They all love you, Tobey. Just like I do. Even a blind man could see it.” Suddenly, Tobey wrapped his arms around Callie, dragging her breasts against his chest. “What about a stupid man?” he said, his voice husky yet hopeful. Tears fell down her cheeks. “Even a stupid man,” she said as their mouths found each other. “Especially if he’s the most amazing, intelligent, loving man I’ve ever met. Now take me to that bed you always talk so much about and love me.”
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Chapter Eight February 14th. Valentine’s Day. Callie opened up her shop and tried not to feel sorry for herself. After all, now that everything was out in the open between her and Tobey, she had everything she’d ever dreamed of and more. She had true love. She had a man she could talk to about anything, a partner that she could depend on and who could depend on her. The only thing she didn’t have was a date for Valentine’s Day. Again. Now that Tobey was committed to keeping Sweet Returns up and thriving as a candy consulting business, he had been setting meetings with all of the potential clients that he had put off for the past several months. It just so happened that he had to fly out for an overnight trip to Chicago on Valentine’s Day. He had been incredibly apologetic and of course Callie had been understanding even though she wanted to beg him to rearrange his schedule. It was all for the best, she told herself. Valentine’s was one of her busiest days of the year and each year, by the time she flipped her sign from open to closed, she could barely do more than drag herself off to bed. Settling into another “Holiday of Love” at her store, Callie did brisk sales all day. With a smile on her face, she sold out of the expensive gift baskets that Tobey had helped her put together and in any spare time she had she filled last-minute orders for chocolate and candy that came in over the Internet. By 5 p.m. it was completely dark outside and Callie was exhausted. The big rush was through—most people were at home sharing a romantic evening in front of the fire together by now. Callie had been hoping that Tobey would call and wish her a happy Valentine’s Day from Chicago, but every time she picked up her phone it was another customer making an order for a box of truffles or a gift basket. She was on the phone with a long-distance customer when a delivery truck parked outside her store and a man walked in with a vase of roses. And then another. And then another. Callie quickly wrapped up her call. “Excuse me,” she said to the delivery man. “I think you’re delivering these roses to the wrong place.” The man looked at his clipboard. “This is Callie’s Candies, isn’t it?” Callie nodded, her heart beginning to blossom with joy. By the time the man drove away, Callie’s Candies was filled with vases of roses of every color—on the floor, on the counter, on every shelf. Callie headed for the phone to call Tobey’s cell phone to thank him for being the most wonderful boyfriend in the world, but before she could wind through the vases of flowers, four men in tuxedos walked through the door carrying musical instruments.
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Hardly able to believe what was happening, the string quartet began to serenade her with her favorite symphony. Tears pooled in her eyes and she had to lean against her display counter to stay steady. No doubt about it, Tobey was the most romantic, wonderful boyfriend in the whole world. Callie couldn’t believe she had doubted him for even one single second. Even from all the way in Chicago, he was giving her the best Valentine’s Day she had ever had. And then her heart stopped as the man she loved walked through the door. She ran into Tobey’s arms and he swept her up against him and kissed her passionately. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he said and she kissed him back with all of the love in her heart. Silently, the string quartet left them alone in Callie’s Candies while they gave each other soft kisses and murmured words of love. “I think we’re alone now,” Tobey said in a voice laced with passion and love. “Lock the door,” Callie said, wanting to drag Tobey into the back room to rip all of his clothes off and show him just how much his romantic deeds meant to her. Tobey grinned. “I’m always locking the door when I’m with you.” Callie planted another kiss on his succulent lips and whispered, “That’s because I’m always taking off my clothes whenever you’re around.” “I knew there was a good reason,” Tobey said as he quickly locked the door and pulled down the blinds. Callie reached for his big warm hands and pulled him into the back room with her. Propping him up against the door, she dropped to her knees and began to undo his belt loop. Tobey laced his fingers through her hair and closed his eyes. In seconds, Callie had his hard, throbbing shaft in her greedy fingers. “Just what I was looking for,” she said, as her hot breath wafted over Tobey’s pulsating head. “My big, tasty Valentine’s Day treat.” Tobey groaned as Callie tasted him with the tip of her tongue. She took his length into her mouth, sucked and pulsating in a perfect rhythm until he couldn’t take it anymore. Pushing her head away from his cock, he dropped to the floor and had both of their clothes off in record time. Naked, facing each other on their knees, Callie climbed on top of Tobey, setting his penis just at the base of her pussy. “Will you marry me?” he said, and as she slid down on his cock, taking all of it, loving every inch of it as it throbbed inside her, she said, “Yes,” and then everything exploded in the ultimate expression of love. The kind of sweet, passionate love that lasts forever.
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Callie’s Cocoa Fudge 2/3 cup powdered cocoa 3 cups sugar 1/8 tsp. salt 1-1/2 cups whole milk 4-1/2 T. butter (real butter, not margarine or ‘spread’) 1 tsp. vanilla Note: This recipe needs two people to take turns stirring and watching and beating the fudge. Clothing optional—it’s going to get really hot in here, and not just because of the cooking!—but be extra careful during boiling. Step One: Dip your finger into the cocoa powder and let your partner lick it off slowly. Next, combine cocoa, sugar, and salt in a large pot (3 qt.). Add milk gradually, mixing thoroughly. Step Two: While your partner nips and kisses your neck, bring the mixture to a boil, stirring constantly (or at least when you remember to between kisses). Turn heat to medium, continue to boil, stirring often, until it reaches 236 degrees F (soft ball stage)—about 45 to 60 minutes of exquisite foreplay. Every few minutes, change places with your partner and kiss his or her neck, while letting your hands roam freely. (The person nearest to the stove should wear a sexy apron to protect against splattering.) Step Three: Carefully remove pan from heat, add butter and vanilla, stir. Cool fudge to 110 degrees F (about 20 minutes, giving you time to kiss a little lower than the neck). Step Four: Take turns beating (the fudge, not each other!) energetically by hand until fudge thickens and loses some of its gloss—about 10 minutes. (The person not beating the fudge should find something else creative to do with their hands.) Quickly spread fudge in a greased 8”x8”x2” glass dish. Cool before cutting. To test if fudge is cool, put a dab on the inside of your partner’s thigh and slowly lick it off, savoring every last bit. Feed each other a small piece of fudge before engaging in other sensuous activities.
About the author: Before plunging wholeheartedly into writing erotic romance, Bella got a BA in Economics at Stanford University, worked as a marketing director, and strutted hundreds of stages as a rock star. She currently lives in Northern California with her fabulous husband, who thinks his wife is cooler than his friends’ wives, because she writes romantica. Bella welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Also by Bella Andre: Authors In Ecstasy
A VALENTINE’S BRIDE Doreen DeSalvo
Dedication In honor of three courageous people who lived a similar story, but without a happy ending: my great-grandmother, Pasqua Suzio Sciullo; her sister, Maria Suzio Sciullo; and my greatgrandfather, Giuseppe Sciullo, who married them both. Non vi ho mai conosciuti, ma il vostro coraggio mi ha accompagnato per tutta la mia vita. – Dorina Teresa
A Valentine’s Bride
CHAPTER ONE February 1881
John looked up from his noontime meal. Had that really been a knock at his door? No one had come to his farmhouse all winter. Usually folks said hello if they saw him in the fields as they passed by, just to be sociable. But no one ever came to the house, and especially not at noon, when there were chores to be done. The knock came again. He left his food and crossed the single room of his farmhouse to the door. The latch was freezing cold, and he let go as soon as he could, using the wooden knob to pull the door open. A young woman stood on his narrow porch, staring up at him with huge blue eyes set in a gaunt face. Her wool coat was worn threadbare in spots, and her bonnet was frayed around the brim. Who was she, a beggar? He had nothing to give. On the narrow track road a couple of acres behind her, a wagon trundled away toward the McNeil’s spread. She turned and waved, though the driver was out of sight. She looked back at him. Her gaze lingered on the hideous scar that marred his cheek for just a few seconds before she met his gaze evenly, not showing any reaction to his ugly face. “Giovanni DiAngelo?” A name he hadn’t heard in years. He nodded once. “Who are you?” “My name is Mariana Del Dio Russo,” she said, in the Tuscan dialect he’d never thought to hear again. Del Dio Russo? That had been his wife’s maiden name. “You’re a relative of Francesca?” Perhaps she’d brought his money in person. She clutched a rough drawstring bag in her hands, a satchel-shaped bag made of canvas. “I’m Francesca’s sister,” she answered. Her teeth chattered a little. She shivered in her thin coat, and looked beyond him into the house. He had no time to talk, but he couldn’t keep her standing outside in the bitter cold of a Pennsylvania February. He moved to the side, and she walked in quickly. He closed the door and turned. She’d already walked to the tiny stove, holding her hands out to it for warmth. Her canvas bag sat in a heap on the floor next to the table. His bowl was still steaming on the table. Might as well finish his meal while they talked. He sat down and lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth. “Did you bring money for me?” She looked confused. Ah, he’d spoken in English. Before he could repeat the question in Italian, she spoke. “My parents received a letter from you,” she said in Italian. “You wrote that Francesca had died.” “Six months ago,” he answered. “Why are you here?” She squared her shoulders. “I’m here to take my sister’s place.”
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God, no. He’d asked Francesca’s parents to send him some of his money back. Francesca had died so soon after their marriage, it hardly seemed fair that her parents kept the full amount he’d paid for her. And he needed money. “I don’t need another wife.” She looked surprised. “You have married again?” He scowled. “No. But I don’t want a wife.” “But…you paid my parents for a wife.” Yes, he had. A wife to help him on the farm, a wife to give him children, a wife to warm his bed. None of those things were worth the price he’d paid—and not just the price of the lire her greedy father had taken. “One wife was enough. I did not ask your parents to send me another.” “But they owe you a wife,” she said. Her gaze was fixed on his bowl. Was she merely avoiding looking at his face? He saw her throat move in a swallowing motion. No, she was hungry. And he only had enough stew for his own lunch. Well, he could share a little with her. She looked thin; she probably wouldn’t eat much. He stuck the fork in his half-finished bowl, stood, and handed it to her. “Eat.” He grabbed another bowl from the shelves over the sink, then went to the simmering pot on the stove and spooned out more for himself. When he turned to the table again, she was already sitting, and eating her way through the stew like she hadn’t had a meal all day. A small moan escaped her, a sound of pure pleasure. She’d pushed off her coat and tossed it onto the back of her chair. Her shoulders were thin and bony, her neck long and narrow. Too skinny. He’d never cared for skinny women. John sat across from her and ate a few bites of food, studying her covertly as he kept his face down. Her dress was patched and much mended, little more than a rag. Her father had talked of sending his sons to school. He must not have spent any of John’s money on his daughters. Her dress stretched tight across her bosom, as if she’d been wearing it since before she’d fully grown. Her breasts were small. Too small. Probably not even enough to fill his hands. If he married her, he could cup those small breasts in his hands. Fondle them. Kiss them. No. There was no place in his life for a wife. When he wanted a woman, he’d spend a few coins on a whore in town. He couldn’t afford the money, but at least a whore knew better than to cringe at the sight of a man’s face when he covered her. A whore knew to keep her eyes closed, and pretend he pleased her. Perhaps this girl—Mariana—had family in America. People with whom she could live. “Who brought you here? The people passing in that wagon?” She stared at him blankly. Ah, he’d spoken in English again. He repeated it in Italian. “Your neighbor,” she said. “Kathleen…McNeil? She passed me on the road, and gave me a ride.” No help there. He couldn’t expect a widow with two boys to take in a stranger. “Where have you been staying?” “I was in New York until two days ago. In that prison place.” “Ellis Island?” “Yes.”
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Right off the boat, she had come to him. She’d expected him to let her stay. Too bad for her. “Do you know anyone in America? Anyone other than me?” “No.” She looked up from the bowl, and her chin lifted a notch. “I can find somewhere else to go, if you don’t want me.” Which meant she had nowhere else to go. He recognized foolish pride when he saw it. “Do you want me?” he demanded. She gave a small start, but didn’t look away. Her eyes were a vivid blue, and they gazed at him solemnly, as though she didn’t see his scar. “Why do you care what I want?” He shrugged and ate more, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t care.” “I want to honor my father’s debt to you,” she said. Not an answer at all. Like most poor girls, she had no choice about her own future. He deliberately looked at his narrow bed, less than four feet away from her chair. And then he looked back at her and scowled, determined to show her his worst. “Now that you have seen me, you have no fear about being my wife? You have no fear about sharing my bed?” Her gaze steady, she gave an indifferent shrug. “After the long journey to come to America, and spending a month in that prison, I have little fear left in me.” He could well believe it. Ellis Island had been hell for a strong man like him—how much worse had it been for a young girl, alone, who barely spoke any English? She couldn’t be more than twenty. At twenty-eight, he felt decades older. She stopped eating for a moment and focused that solemn blue gaze on his eyes. “I will be a good wife to you, Giovanni.” He frowned. “I’ve told you, I don’t need a wife.” His bowl was empty. He rose, but she quickly stood and took it from him. “May I bring you more?” Why not let her serve him? He nodded. She turned to the stove, giving him a view of her backside. At least one part of her body wasn’t too thin. Her waist was narrow, but her hips were generous, her bottom well-rounded. Very well-rounded. As she spooned stew into his bowl, that alluring ass rocked back and forth with the rhythm of her arm. His cock stirred. If he married her, he could bed her. Cover her. Mount her. Fuck her. He knew many English words for the sex act. And looking at this skinny woman’s ass made him think of all of them. God, no. Women were trouble. Wives were trouble. Perhaps it would be different this time. Now he knew the dangers. And now he knew how to pleasure a woman. This bony little woman, this small-chested girl with the surprisingly generous ass, could help him practice his hard-won knowledge. Even a skinny woman could ease a man’s needs. That was one chore she could do for him. She looked too weak to do anything else.
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She turned back to the table. When she caught his gaze, she stopped abruptly. His lustful thoughts must have shown in his eyes, on his face. But he saw no revulsion in her expression. None at all. She smiled…a slow, warm smile. An inviting smile. A flirtatious smile. Hell, other men must have looked at her this way. Even ugly men like him. And she must have encouraged them with that sultry smile. What kind of innocent girl looked at a man like that? Like she wanted to climb into his narrow bed with him now, right now, in the light of day? Perhaps she wasn’t an innocent. Perhaps her damned father had foisted a ruined daughter off on him. She dropped her gaze, and sat down at the table. She pushed the bowl toward him, then went back to eating her own food, as if she hadn’t just looked at him like he was a more tempting meal than the beef stew. No, an innocent woman would never give such a look to an ugly man like him. She was trying to persuade him to let her stay. Working her wiles on him. The few wiles that a scrawny woman like her had available to her. He grabbed his bowl and ate, glaring down at the food. She’d given him a full portion. And he needed it. There was a lot of work to be done in the north field today, despite the bitter cold. “This is delicious,” she said. “Speak English,” he said. One hand fluttered in an apologetic Italian gesture. “My English isn’t good,” she said in Italian. “Then go back to Italy,” he said in English. “There’s no place here for someone who doesn’t speak the language.” She frowned again, with the concentration that came from translating his words back into her native tongue. “As you wish, Giovanni,” she said, in halting English. “John,” he corrected, head bent to his food. “John?” He looked up at her. “Yes?” She looked flustered. “No, I…why…why no Giovanni?” Even though her English was poor, she’d force him into idle conversation. “I am an American now. John is my American name.” “Oh. Will I have a…an American name?” He shrugged, and kept eating. “Up to you.” “You would wish?” she asked timidly. He shrugged again. “Giovanni was difficult for Americans to pronounce.” She looked hopelessly confused. “Giovanni was hard to say,” he said, using different words. Her brow cleared. “Will Mariana be…hard to pronounce?” Clever girl, catching the new word so quickly. Then again, it was very similar to the Italian word. “I don’t know.” She ate for a moment in silence. But only a moment. “The other word you used…difficult?” “Yes. It means difficile.” “Ah. Do you have…paper?”
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Paper? He could tell her what a senseless luxury that would be on his pitiful farm, but she wouldn’t understand the words. “Why do you need paper?” “To write. To remember…new words.” He sighed. At least she wanted to learn. He stood and found the small chalkboard he kept in the kitchen, for making lists and such. The chalk was in a drawer. He handed the items to her, and her face lit up. And he froze. By the saints, that happy smile made her look almost pretty. As gaunt as her face was, he hadn’t noticed. But her blue eyes were set in a perfect oval, her light brown eyebrows even and smooth, her lips gracefully curved and pink. He couldn’t see her hair under that pathetic bonnet, but with skin so fair, likely it was blonde. Even skinny as a wraith, in a ragged, ill-fitting dress, she was a comely little thing. And this woman pretended she was willing to marry a hideous man like him? To share his bed? He sat down, glowered into his bowl, and focused on eating. Hell. He should keep her. Use her. It would serve her right for looking at him the way she had before. And if she wasn’t a virgin, he wouldn’t have to be gentle with her. But maybe she hadn’t really looked at him in that lusty way. Maybe, in the surprise of feeling his own lust for her, he’d merely imagined that she felt the same. “Please,” she said, motioning with the chalk. “Difficult?” “Spell the word?” She nodded. He spelled it out loud in English, and she wrote it perfectly the first time, to his surprise. She set the small chalkboard down carefully and picked up her spoon again. They ate in silence. Her fork scraped off the last few bites as she finished her stew. She sat quietly. He didn’t look up, didn’t want to see that gaunt face. He’d already given her more food than he’d wanted to. Enough that he’d be hungry again long before supper. But her hand, resting patiently on the table, seemed pathetically thin, her knuckles huge in her slender fingers. He couldn’t eat with that scrawny hand in front of him. He pushed his bowl across to her. “I’m done. Help yourself.” She looked confused again. God, he’d done more talking with this woman in a few minutes than he’d done altogether in the past six months. “Help yourself. Eat.” She smiled. “Thank you, John.” She ate quickly. At least eating kept her quiet. He should leave, get back to work in the north field. A fence had broken in three places under the weight of heavy snow. But if he left, he’d have to let her stay. And if she stayed, he’d have to marry her. His neighbors, all God-fearing farmers, would shun him if he lived with an unmarried woman. How could he decide? “What chores can you do?” he asked. “Chores?” “Chores. Housework. Farm work.” “Ah. I can cook, and clean, and make preserves,” she said.
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She didn’t seem to notice that she’d used the Italian words for make preserves. He didn’t bother correcting her. “I like my own cooking,” he told her. “And I don’t need much cleaning done. Things just get dirty again fast enough.” She raised her eyebrows with an odd, faintly mocking look on her face, as if he’d said something stupid. But she said nothing. Smart girl. She’d have been smarter to guard her expression, too. Now wasn’t a good time to criticize him. “Can you do anything else?” he asked. She turned suddenly, bent down, and opened her bag. God, everything she owned must be in that tiny bundle. After rummaging in it for a moment, she held up two small books. Translation dictionaries. One for English to Italian, the other for the reverse. “I need this to say English,” she said. “These,” he corrected automatically. “To speak English.” She looked through one book for a few moments, flipping from one page to another. “I can get eggs. Make cheese. Get milk from the goat.” “I have a cow.” “I will get milk from a cow, then.” “Just say, milk the cow.” She nodded, looking earnest. “Milk the cow,” she repeated. “Every morning, I will milk the cow, and…get the eggs.” She already assumed he’d keep her, the little temptress. As if no man had ever denied her. She’d just met the first. “No.” A frown formed on her lips. “But…I must do things. To be a good wife.” He scowled. “I don’t want a wife. No wife.” She looked confused. Concerned, maybe. “But…you paid my father. You said, I will marry daughter.” So now she’d accuse him of breaking the agreement with her rotten father? Her father could go hang. John would gladly pay for the rope. “I married one daughter. Francesca. I didn’t say I would marry a second daughter. And I won’t.” She looked frightened, her eyes wide. He saw her glance at the bed, then back at him. “Do you want…a woman?” She took a deep breath. “For the bed?” Oh, she was a bold one all right. She’d probably stay and share his bed, whether he married her or not. Just to have a home. He couldn’t blame her for trying, but if he kept her to warm his bed, he'd have to marry her. Even a solitary man like him needed to trade with his neighbors, to do business in town. If he used her like a whore, no one would speak to him. And he’d want a whore with more meat on her bones, anyway. “No,” he said. “I don’t need a woman.” She bit her lip. “I understand.” But she made no move to leave. He pushed his own chair back from the table. “I have work to do.” She stood slowly, and slipped on her coat. She kept her head averted, as if hiding her expression. “Thank you for the food, John.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Can I…today…” She reached for one of her books.
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He braced himself to say no as she thumbed through the book. No. No. Whatever she wanted, the answer was no. “Can I stay in barn? Only tonight?” She’d freeze to death in the barn. She’d have to find somewhere warmer than that to stay. “No.” She turned away, fumbling with the buttons of her coat. One hand brushed across her eyes, but he’d seen no tears. Trying to make him feel guilty. Damn her. “How will you get back home? I have no money to give you.” Her greedy parents were the ones who owed him money. She shook her head. “I not go back.” “Why not?” She looked surprised by his question. “I was sent to be your wife,” she said, speaking in fluid Italian. “To honor my father’s debt to you. If I went back, he would be dishonored. No one in the village would trust him again. My family would be outcasts.” He snorted. “You are concerned for the honor of a man who would sell his own children?” He spoke in Italian, without thinking. She looked down at the floor. “He is my father,” she said simply, this time in English. “It is his…duty…to find me husband.” She paused for a long moment, as if waiting for him to say something. He didn’t. “And I not have money to go back,” she said at last. Then she bent and picked up her pathetic cloth satchel, and stuffed the tattered books inside. “Is not a problem,” she said with a brisk nod, as if trying to convince herself. “Kathleen McNeil is nice. She will let me stay her house.” Oh, she was a clever little thing. Surely she knew he didn’t want her showing up on Kathleen’s doorstep, telling the widow how her evil neighbor had thrown out this pathetic girl after she’d come all the way from Italy. After he’d paid her father for a bride. No way in hell would he let her go to Kathleen’s place. She had his hands tied now. But he wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily. “And how will you earn your keep? Kathleen has two strong sons, and she’s the best cook in the county.” He didn’t believe that, but he’d use it to rile her. “She doesn’t need anyone to milk the cow, or make preserves, or anything else you could do.” She thought about it for a long time, indecision clouding her eyes. The way she kept biting her lip annoyed him. Kept his gaze fixed on that mouth. “Then I will work for money,” she said at last. “I will give to her money.” As if she had any skill that folks would pay for. “You’ll work for money? Where?” She shrugged. “In the town, maybe.” She raised her chin. “Is not your problem. Is mine. Mine problem.” “My problem,” he said, before he could stop himself. So, she thought she could work for money. He snorted. She looked so scrawny, no one would ever hire her. She was even too skinny and flat-chested to be a whore. She might be passably pretty when she had a happy look on her face, but no man would pay to bed her. Although one man already had.
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Him. He might as well take her. Marry her. Bed her. It might be handy to have a woman in his bed every night. Until she died. She looked so scrawny, it wouldn’t take long. But until then… He wouldn’t make the same mistakes he’d made with Francesca. No, this time he’d be on his guard. She’d never know how to hurt him. And he’d never let her. “Stay,” he said. Her mouth dropped open. “What?” “You heard me.” “You will…you wish to…be husband of me?” God, her English was pathetic. “Marry you.” He wouldn’t say he wished it. “I will marry you.” She nodded, and took her coat off again. This time she crossed to the door and hung it on a peg, next to his own coat. Making herself at home already. Her dress was so ragged, it was no wonder he’d thought her a beggar. The fabric was nearly worn through over her backside. “Can you sew?” “So?” “Sew.” He said it again, in Italian. “Yes.” “Good. I won’t have to waste money buying new clothes for you.” He pointed to the low, rough-hewn chest against the far wall. “Your sister’s clothes are in there. You can make them over to fit you.” She was so much skinnier and less buxom than Francesca, she’d have plenty of fabric to work with. She nodded. “I understand.” He couldn’t stay here all day, entertaining her. He went to the door and pulled on his overcoat. “I’m going out.” “I will…make chores.” He almost groaned. “Do chores.” “I will do chores.” “Very well.” “What?” She looked confused. “Very well,” he said, as clearly as he could. “Va bene.” As he put on his hat, he saw her writing on the chalkboard again. Very well must be a new phrase for his skinny little bride-to-be. “When do you return?” she asked. How long had it been since he’d had someone to come home to? “Maybe four hours,” he said. “A fence needs mending in several places.” She clearly didn’t understand about the fence, but she smiled anyway. “I will…do chores,” she said. That happy, bright smile had to be fake. No one could be so happy about doing chores.
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“Good.” He slung a scarf around his neck. She stood in that quick manner of hers, and rushed up behind him. Before he could stop her, she’d put her hands on his coat and turned his collar up, tucking it under his scarf. Her thin hand brushed his fingers for an instant. Lord, her skin felt soft against his callused fingers. As soft as if she’d never done a day’s hard work in her life. “It will help keep out the wind,” she said in Italian, then stopped. “How do you say it in English?” She was a full head shorter than him, and shockingly skinny next to his bulky frame. But with her head tilted back, her expression so earnest, her blue eyes so vivid, he wanted nothing more than to bend his head and kiss her. No. He’d never kiss her in the daytime. That was certain. Francesca had taught him that lesson all too well. “Look it up,” he said, turning away and yanking open the door. He left, stepping into the bitter wind and slamming the door behind him. It seemed he had a new wife. For better, for worse. And after his first marriage, he knew just how much worse things could get. She’d probably come to hate him soon enough. All women did. Starting with his own damned mother, and ending with his first wife. Francesca had at least been a sturdy, strong woman. But not strong enough. Within a year, a fever had carried her off. How much more quickly would her scrawny sister be gone?
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CHAPTER TWO Mariana wiped her brow with a damp cloth, relishing the coolness against her heated skin. She’d earned a break. She cut a thick slice of bread off the half loaf that rested in the breadbox, spread it with butter, and sank into a chair at the table, just for a moment’s rest. The bread was delicious. If that man had baked this, no wonder he didn’t need her to cook for him. She got up and cut another slice. She’d seen more bread in the cold cellar, which was hidden under a small trapdoor. He wouldn’t mind if she finished this loaf. She hoped. The house looked decent now, at least. After more than an hour of cleaning, the floor was swept and scrubbed, every surface had been dusted, and the cobwebs were gone. She’d washed every pot and pan, every dish and piece of silverware. Even the sink was scoured clean. That man—John—mustn’t have cleaned a thing in months. She’d even had to hunt for the soap, which he’d stored down in the cold cellar, for some odd reason. And such fancy soap— two kinds, hard and soft, and store bought, with a printed label from Philadelphia on the tin of soft soap. What luxury. He even had a pump in the house. She wouldn’t miss lugging water in from the well, like she’d done at home. No. Not at home. Italy wasn’t her home anymore. This was her home now. Hers, and John’s. Such a scary-looking man, with that terrible, jagged white scar. With those rough features, the dark, shaggy hair, and that forbidding glower, he’d been frightening indeed. And big. Tall and strong, and incredibly broad-shouldered. When she’d stood next to him, he’d made her feel so very small. And just a little frightened. She knew better than to judge a man by his looks. But his demeanor had been frightening as well. So cold, and hostile. Why had he decided to marry her after all his refusals? Maybe he didn’t want Kathleen, his neighbor, to know he wouldn’t take her in. That seemed to be the argument that had worked. Even so, he might change his mind again. He didn’t want her at all. Not as a wife, not as a woman. Or so he’d said. But he’d given her a look, just once, the kind of look that she’d seen from other men. The kind of look her mother and brothers had warned her about. The kind of look that stripped her naked and pushed her down on her back and spread her legs. Her brother Pietro had told her that, had told her what happened between men and women, hoping to shock her, hoping to scare her into not trusting men who looked at her that way. But John would be her husband, and then he’d do those things to her. John, with the scowling face and bushy black eyebrows and disturbing scar. He’d strip her naked, he’d lay her down on the narrow bed right over there, he’d spread… She shivered, and her stomach felt fluttery, the way it had when John had given her that look. She’d have to let him do those things to her. But only after they were married. Her mother had warned her not to let him lie between her legs until they were married.
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But if she pushed him away completely, he might decide he didn’t want her in his bed after all. And then he’d send her away. No, she had to make sure he kept looking at her that way…kept wanting her…but she couldn’t let him take her virginity. She couldn’t risk him sending her away, unwed and ruined. Perhaps she could convince him to marry her tomorrow. Then she would have nothing to fear. Nothing to fear? Ha. Nothing but having him lie between her legs, and push his male part up inside her. She knew it would hurt the first time. Her mother had warned her. Why did some women do it willingly, with men they weren’t even married to? Well, no sense in worrying about it now. First she’d prove that she could be a good wife. The more work she got done before he came back, the more he’d want to marry her. She’d done a wonderful job cleaning his house—a job he’d said was unnecessary. Now she’d clean his clothes, and the dirty sheets on his bed. Their bed. She brushed the crumbs from her bread into one hand and dumped them into the sink, then went outside to check on the laundry water. Earlier, she’d found two huge tin tubs in the barn, and rolled them outside. Now the tubs sat across a large iron fire grate, and the fire she’d lit underneath had the water boiling in both. The wind made her shiver, out here in the cold without a coat. With the heat from the fire and boiling water, plus the strain of hefting the sopping wet clothes, she’d be sweating before long. She dropped a scoop of soft soap into the first tub, and swirled it around with a long pole until it dissolved. Then she picked up some of the dirty clothes and pushed them under the boiling water, adding more clothes until the tub was half full. She stirred the clothes slowly, saving her strength. As much as stirring the sodden clothes hurt, wringing them out would be harder still. Difficult. That was the English word. She’d learn English. He thought she was stupid, but she’d prove him wrong. She’d learn English, and she’d learn how to milk his cow, and she’d learn how to do everything Francesca had done for him. Everything. Poor Francesca. Why were some taken, and others spared? On the boat, wretchedly ill, terrified of what the future held, she’d wanted to die. Others had. But she’d survived. Only God knew why. And now she’d make the most of the precious life she had left. Even if it wasn’t the life she’d once dreamed of. A year ago, she’d dreamed of love. A year ago, on St. Valentine’s Day, no less than five men had given her hothouse flowers—and three had kissed her. She’d hoped to fall in love with one of them, to marry one of them. Now Valentine’s Day was less than a week away, but there would be no flowers for her this year. Enough. She’d promised herself, on the boat, to look to her future. Not to the past. The breeze shifted, blowing smoke and heat from the fire into her face. She turned her head away. A small, desolate garden sat between the house and the barn, nothing but dried-up perennials that seemed to shiver in the wind as they poked out from a thin blanket of snow. On the other side of the house, chickens clucked and fluttered in a small coop. She could take care of the chickens, feed them, gather the eggs. She knew how to do that.
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The farm was set among rolling hills, rather like the village back home in Tuscany. Pietro had told her it rained a lot here in Pennsylvania. Those hills must be a beautiful green when they weren’t covered in snow. Time to rinse the clothes. She used the long pole to lift the heavy, soaking wet clothes from the tub of soapy water and slosh them into the tub of clear water. Her jaw clenched with the strain. When she was done, she leaned on the long pole, panting. Her arms ached and her dress was soaked with sweat. After she caught her breath, she put the rest of the dirty clothes into the soapy water and swished them around. Thank goodness he didn’t have much in the way of clothes or linens. She’d only have to do two tubs’ worth of laundry. There was even room for her sweaty dress. Her sore arms trembled when she lifted her hands to undo the buttons. She stepped out of the garment and dunked it in the soapy water. She should be freezing, with only her shift and drawers on, but the fires kept her hot. And at least her brothers weren’t here to tease her about her state of undress. No one would see.
***** John hefted the wooden beam into place, bending over to balance it on his back. He reached awkwardly for the sack of nails at his feet, barely managing to get a couple pounded in from this strange angle. He turned carefully, using one hand to keep the beam steady across his back. If the wood fell off his back and crashed to the ground, ripping out the nails, he’d have to start over again. He pounded nails in the other side. Cautiously, he backed out from under the crossbeam. It held. His back gave a twinge as he straightened. He leaned into the new crossbeam, and it wobbled a bit. He pounded more nails in, fixing the new piece to the broken ends of the old. There. The last break was fixed. He swept his forearm across his brow, wiping the sweat off on his coat sleeve. Even in the cold, mending a fence alone was hot, hard work. Next time he’d see if that worthless girl could help him. At least she could hand him the nails. “Hello,” a woman’s voice called. He turned, squinting into the winter sun, and saw Kathleen and her eldest son walking toward him from their side of the fence. She must have come out to check on the boy, who’d been chopping at a rotten oak tree earlier. John had planned to give him a hand after his fence was mended. He walked down the fence to meet them. They all leaned along the top crossbeam, and John nodded at young Bill. The boy was nearing seventeen, and almost full-grown. “How’s Mariana?” Bill asked. Why did the lad care? “She’s fine, I suppose.” His breath came out like a small cloud in the chilly air. Bill didn’t meet his gaze. “She walked a long way from town before we took her up this morning. I hope she didn’t catch cold.” There didn’t seem to be any answer to that. As thin as she was, she’d likely catch something worse in no time. “Thank you for taking her up,” he said. “Oh, we were happy to give her a ride,” Kathleen answered. “Weren’t we, Billy?”
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A red flush rose in her son’s face. He mustn’t like the childish nickname. He’d long ago asked John to call him Bill, and he’d obliged, knowing the boy wanted to be treated like a man. “Billy spent some time chatting with her in the wagon,” Kathleen went on. “Improving her English.” “It needs improving,” John admitted. “She’s smarter than she looks,” Bill said, then went beet red. “I mean…she’s real smart.” Kathleen nodded at him. “Yes, I’m sure she’s one smart gal. Billy, you’d best get that tree down before sunset.” The boy nodded, then glanced at John. “Will you tell Mariana I said hello?” “Why, sure.” He watched the lad walk back toward the tree he’d been chopping at. When he was a good distance away, Kathleen spoke. “I’m afraid Billy’s a mite sweet on your Mariana.” Kathleen must be kidding him. Still, the boy had seemed real flustered. “Sweet on Mariana?” he repeated stupidly. She nodded, and grinned at him. “You’d best get used to it, John. I expect half the men in this county will be mooning over that young woman once they get a look at her. And with Valentine’s Day coming next week, some fella may try to romance her away from you.” Valentine’s Day. He snorted. Why women thought that was a special day, he’d never know. And no man was ever going to come after skinny little Mariana. “Now don’t go ribbing me, Kathleen.” She tried to school her grin, the way she always did when she ribbed him. “It’s been a right long time since we’ve had such a pretty gal in these parts. They’ll be writing poems about her eyelashes before long.” What a silly idea. The girl was downright scrawny. But when she smiled…well, then she looked all right. He shrugged. “I expect she’s pretty enough, in her way.” Kathleen tipped her head back and laughed. “Pretty enough? There’s no need to spare my feelings, young man. I have eyes in my head, you know. The girl’s a flat-out beauty, and that’s a fact.” A beauty. Mariana, a beauty? Her eyes were nice, but he’d seen plenty of blue eyes before. “Her looks are pretty common back in Tuscany.” Kathleen laughed again. “Why on earth did you ever leave, then? You must be blind.” He smiled back at her. Kathleen always teased him, as if she was his older sister. The older sister he’d never had. The older sister he could talk to. “You got to admit she’s kind of skinny,” he said. “What’s skinny to an Italian man is dainty and slender to any other man.” Then Kathleen sobered. “But yes, she’s a mite thin. Didn’t she tell you? She was awful sick on the boat. Some kind of fever. They quarantined her at Ellis Island for four weeks. Poor thing.” She made a little tsk noise with her tongue. “I heard that hundreds of immigrants died in the past two months. She was lucky.” Damn right, she’d been lucky. He’d seen whole families die from fever. Francesca had died from a fever.
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Kathleen smiled again. “With some good food, she’ll fill out right and proper. Then all the men’ll be howling around her like wolves at the moon.” She chuckled. “Excepting you, Mr. Blind Man.” Hell, he wasn’t blind. He just wasn’t one to exaggerate a woman’s looks. He straightened. “Don’t want to keep you standing still in this cold. I’d best get back to work.” Her smile widened into a grin. “You do that. And tell Mariana I said hello, too.” He nodded farewell, then headed back along the fence to pick up his tools. It was a little early still, but the fence was done. He’d head back out later, see if young Bill needed any help clearing that tree. Once his tools were safely stowed in the barn, maybe he’d check on Mariana. See what kind of chores she’d been up to. This late in the winter, the crops were all in, so he cut straight across the fields toward the back of the barn, his boots crunching over the patches of snow that dappled the ground. His spread was small, barely four miles square. Small enough that he could walk across it in less than half an hour. And now that he wasn’t getting any money from Francesca’s parents, he’d never be able to enlarge it. He’d planned to ask Kathleen to sell him a few acres of her farm. She had too much land for her and the boys to work, and she didn’t cotton to hiring hands. He’d never have the money to buy that land from her now. No, now he had a new wife instead. He rounded the corner of the barn and saw Mariana—a nearly naked Mariana—viciously twisting a white garment around the pole he’d staked for wringing out the laundry. A fire was smoldering under two tubs, almost burned out. She must be nearly finished. She’d taken her bonnet off—her bonnet and most of her clothes. Her hair was blonde, a deep, rich yellow blonde, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. Not with everything else he could see. Her shift was even more threadbare than her dress had been. Soaked with sweat and steam, the transparent white fabric clung to her body. Yes, she was as skinny as he’d feared, and her breasts were small, but firm and round. Dark nipples peaked and tented the cloth. Tempting him. A pity she hadn’t removed her drawers—he’d pay dearly to see more of her legs. Her long, slender legs. She leaned further away from the pole, pulling the fabric taut, and groaned. A groan of agony, but it sounded the same as a moan of pleasure. God, he was a wicked man. And how wicked was she, outside with no clothes on in the freezing cold, showing her body for everyone to see? It’d be a wonder if she didn’t catch her death. “What are you doing, out here half naked?” She jumped a little, but didn’t say a thing. With dark shadows under her eyes and wisps of straggly hair falling over her forehead, she looked too weary to talk. She untwisted the cloth, staggering a little as she stood upright. Wincing, she tossed the fabric she’d been twisting into the larger tub. It looked like a sheet. “Too hot,” she said. “Too hot for clothes.” She leaned against the tub, too weak to even stand on her own. He’d have to help her wring the laundry. But when he looked into the tubs, he found them full of damp, wrung clothes.
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“I just finished wringing everything,” she said, in Italian. Then she blinked and started in English. “I have…done.” “I am done.” She looked exhausted, with her face flushed and her hair curling in damp waves from the heat. “I am done. I’m done.” So she knew about contractions. Bill was right, she was smarter than she looked. At least when it came to English. He picked up one of the laundry tubs and headed for the house. “Bring the rest,” he said. He heard no movement behind him, but didn’t stop to check on her. “I can’t.” She sounded ready to weep. He stopped then, and turned. She was standing there, simply standing. When his gaze raked over her chest, she whimpered, and blushed, but didn’t cover herself. He frowned. “What’s wrong?” She looked down at her hands. “My arms…” Her arms were trembling, he could see that even from this distance. “I can’t move my arms,” she said in Italian. She sounded terrified. He dropped the tub and went to her, trying to ignore the pert breasts peeking up at him. Her nipples were thick, the thickest he’d ever seen. How would they feel in his mouth, against his tongue? His cock stirred and lifted against his pants. He reached out and grasped her upper arms. God, his hands more than circled her skinny biceps. The muscles spasmed under his fingers. The damned girl had worked too hard. No wonder her arms were rebelling. And who the hell had asked her to do the laundry? He’d told her he didn’t have any use for someone to clean up after him. He sighed and let her go. “Go inside.” The words came out in Italian. She looked up at him. “What about the wet clothes?” His jaw clenched. Did she think she could do anything to help? She couldn’t even lift her hands to cover her breasts, to hide herself from his gaze. He took another look at those thick dark nipples. Just because he could. “Don’t be stubborn, girl. Just do as I say. Get inside and sit down.” He tossed all of the wet clothes into the larger of the two tubs and carried it inside. She never could have lifted this tub. Why had she started a chore she didn’t have the strength to finish? She was sitting at the table when he came in. The bed was stripped bare, the blankets neatly folded on top of the chest that held Francesca’s clothes. She’d washed all the laundry in sight. No wonder her arms were aching. And the house…the house was clean, too. The dresser, the table, even the chairs, had all been dusted and polished. His boots didn’t stick to the floor anymore. Damn her. He didn’t need her to clean his place, to make him feel like a good-for-nothing sloth. But now that she was here, well…maybe she could do two chores. She could clean, and she could warm his bed. She didn’t need strong arms to do either of those chores. He built up the fire in the stove. She’d kept all of the pots simmering with water on the stovetop, no doubt in case she needed more hot water for the laundry. Even the outsides of the pots were scrubbed clean. 71
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“I’m not all the time weak,” she said, in English. Could have fooled him. “Don’t start a chore you’re too weak to finish,” he said. He threaded a thin rope around a few nails pounded into the walls, forming an indoor clothesline. Then he took a wet sheet from the tub, shook it out, and hung it over the rope. “I want help you,” she said. “Just sit there,” he said. Rest was the only thing that would heal her strained muscles. Rest and heat. When he finished with the clothes, he’d fill a tub for her to soak in. And he’d still make it back out into the field to help Bill with that tree. “Too cold to hang clothes outside,” she said. “I wondered how to hang inside.” He could think of no response to that. All he wanted to do was drop the damned clothes, pick her up, and throw her onto the bare bed…and feel those thick, taut nipples against his naked chest. Even if she wasn’t a virgin, he’d try to be gentle when he took her the first time. He’d treat her better than he’d treated his first wife. And he’d never bed her in the daytime. He’d never bed her when she could see his face. When he could see her cringe. Or watch her sob. The memory made him scowl. “Was there a man?” he asked. It sounded like a shout in the silence of the room. “What?” “In Italy,” he said, lowering his voice. “Was there a special man, a man who cared for you, back in Tuscany?” “No,” she said softly. She sounded sad. Too sad to be telling the truth. With that flirty smile of hers, she’d probably had hordes of men. All writing poetry about her eyelashes, like Kathleen had said. He snorted, and hung more clothes. “A woman like you had no one courting her?” She glanced up at him and smiled sunnily. He almost dropped the wet undershirt he was holding. “Thank you,” she said. What on earth was she thanking him for? Oh, she must have thought he meant she was pretty. Hell. “There was men—there were men courting me,” she went on. “But there was no special man.” Perhaps she lied. Francesca had. He’d found the letters after she’d died, letters from the man she’d hoped to marry, the man too poor to meet her father’s price. But what choice did they have, either of these poor girls? First they were at the mercy of their greedy father, then at the mercy of the man who’d bought them. He couldn’t blame them for lying. He hung the last garment—her worn, pathetic dress. “Take off your shift,” he said. She gasped. “What?” Would she always make him waste his breath? He carried the empty tub to the stove and set it down nearby. “You heard me,” he said. He lifted a pot of simmering water from the stove and poured it into the tub. By the time he’d emptied them all, the tub was half full. He added a pot of cold water, just enough to lower the temperature from scalding to merely hot.
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And still she sat there in her wet shift and drawers. Would everything be an argument with her? At least Francesca had taken orders with good grace. “Your arms will feel better after the heat of a bath,” he said. “Now take off your clothes.” He turned his back to her, even though he wanted to watch, and faced the window. The gray light of winter was rapidly fading. Soon it would be dark. And he would bed her in the dark. A mixed blessing. She wouldn’t be able to see his ugly face, and he wouldn’t be able to see her body. For a skinny woman, she had quite an arousing body. “I can bathe with them on.” As if he hadn’t seen plenty of her already. Good thing he never had visitors. Anyone could have happened along and seen her like that. Young Bill could have seen her like that. His hand clenched into a fist. “If I hang your things now, they’ll dry by morning.” “Very well.” She’d learned the phrase already. He heard her gasp, and looked over his shoulder. She was struggling out of the shift, no doubt hurting her sore arms. At least she was facing away from him, so she didn’t see him watch as the damp shift fell to the floor. Her shoulders were broader than he’d expected, her skin pale and pink in the fading sun, but her back and shoulder blades were far too bony. Even if she filled out some, she’d still be skinny. Skinnier than he liked a woman to be. But when she bent to tug off her drawers, his breath caught. Mother of God, her backside was perfect. Her narrow waist, so slender, emphasized the flare of her hips, the wonderful, round curves of the pale globes of her ass. His mouth went dry, and his cock reared. Someday, if she allowed it, if she liked bed sport, if…someday, if he was the luckiest man alive, he’d take her from behind. He’d put her on her hands and knees, yes, and kneel behind her. Somehow, there would be enough light to see…and he’d hold onto those wide hips and look down at that glorious ass as he fucked her. Her yellow blonde hair would stream down her slender back and over her shoulders as she moved with him…and she’d bury her face in the mattress, trying to muffle her cries of pleasure— She moved slightly, shifting to one side, and he quickly turned his head away so she wouldn’t see him looking at her. Did other men think such lustful thoughts about their own wives? He’d never know. Even if he had friends to ask, he could never raise such a personal subject. He’d heard men brag about their conquests, but never about their wives. She gasped and drew short, panting breaths, and even though he knew she must simply be sliding into the hot water, he imagined her making those sounds beneath him. Enough. He turned and saw only her head over the edge of the tub. Somehow she’d managed to twist up her hair and tuck her knees under her chin. Her shoulders were underwater. Good. The heat would soothe her sore muscles. He picked up her discarded clothes and hung them on a spare end of the clothesline. He had to get out of here. Outside. The cold air would settle his cock. He’d go find Bill, help him with that rotten tree. And hear more about how smart and desirable Bill found his wife-to-be. Damn. Well, at least she’d be decently clothed when he got back. She’d better be.
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He shrugged into his coat. When he opened the door, she called his name softly. He closed it again. “Yes?” “Please, will you give me the soap?” Her English wasn’t terrible at all. With simple sentences, she did just fine. He kept his gaze on her face as he brought her the tin of soap and a washcloth. Lord, her face was as red as boiled beets. Maybe she was a virgin after all. Or maybe it was him that made her blush. The thought of an ugly man like him seeing her naked. She reached out for the soap, and winced. “Don’t use your arms,” he said. He shrugged out of his coat, then dragged a chair over and sat behind the tub, so he could stare down at her bosom without her seeing. “I’ll wash you,” he announced. She looked up at him, mouth agape, and covered her breasts with crossed arms. “You can’t,” she said. “You’re no use to me crippled,” he said. “I’ll help you now, so you can work tomorrow.” And so I can fuck you tonight. He saw skepticism in her eyes, but she didn’t voice it. Perhaps she didn’t have the English words. God help him when she caught up—she already chattered away like a magpie, at least compared to him. He dipped the washcloth into the tub, careful not to touch her yet. “If you keep using those sore arms, they’ll only take longer to get better.” She turned away from him and dropped her head. With her hair piled up in a loose knot, the curve of her tender neck was exposed. Her blush covered even the back of her neck. How high would she jump if he planted a kiss there? “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. She ducked her face even further forward, resting it against her folded arms. “I can’t help this.” He grinned. “Would it help if I took off my clothes as well?” That brought her head up. “No,” she said. Her neck was even redder now. He shouldn’t rib her. “Sorry.” “No, I’m sorry to be…to cause…I wanted to do more chores today,” she said. “You’re not strong enough to do much.” Maybe she never would be. “But…you worked hard,” he said. He bit his tongue to keep from adding, and now you’ll be useless for days. But he merely rubbed some soap on the cloth, worked it into a lather, and gently washed her neck and upper back. She relaxed a little, leaning forward, giving him a little more space between her body and the edge of the tub. Now he’d get to wash her fine ass. “Stand up,” he said hoarsely. No doubt she’d argue about it. But she stood, to his surprise, putting her wet, wonderful ass on a level with his face. His first urge was to kiss, to lick, to nip that generous flesh. He ground his teeth. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t startle her like that. He washed her magnificent bottom instead, careful not to let
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his hand touch her skin, and shifted in the chair, adjusting his stiff cock into a more comfortable position in his trousers. Soon, he promised his aching friend. He reached around her to wash her stomach, then moved higher, swirling the cloth around her breasts, over her collarbones, up her neck. A roaring sound crashed through his head, and he took a deep breath. God, he hadn’t been breathing. He was more nervous tonight than he’d been with his first woman. Back then, he hadn’t been smart enough to be nervous. Back then, he hadn’t known the ways a man could hurt a woman. The ways a woman could hurt a man like him. Enough of this torture. He washed her arms quickly, then pressed the cloth into her hand. “Do the rest,” he said, his voice rough. Without looking at her, he rinsed his hand off at the pump and walked away. Just away, away to the window, away where he couldn’t see her. He didn’t need to see her lift those long legs out of the tub, to watch her glide the soapy cloth up the inside of her thigh and wish it was his own hand. But he couldn’t just stand here all night. Ah. Supper. Food would calm him. The bread box was empty. She must have been hungry after lunch. She must be hungry now. She’d eaten less than him, and he was starving. He pulled open the trap door and went into the tiny cold cellar, careful to keep his head bent in the narrow, low space. They’d have to make do with simple food for supper. He wasn’t getting anywhere near that stove—the tub was right in front of it. He grabbed a chunk of ham, a quarter wheel of cheese, and a loaf of bread from the shelves. His winter supplies were thinning. Good thing spring was on the way. And there was only one loaf of bread left. Maybe she could bake. Well, she certainly wouldn’t be kneading bread anytime soon. Not with those pathetic arms. Please, Lord, let her be capable of doing just one useful chore. One besides driving me insane with lust. He climbed back up the narrow ladder and dumped the food on the table. She was still soaking in the tub, but the washcloth and tin of soap were sitting next to it on the floor. He brought a knife to the table and quickly made her a sandwich, then brought it to her with a small dry cloth. “Here.” She looked up in surprise, then smiled when she saw what he held. “Thank you,” she said. She dried one hand, then took the sandwich. Her first bite was generous. If she kept eating like this, she’d put some meat on her bones. He ate his own sandwich at the table, slowly, staring at the back of her head while the sun set and the weak light of a winter moon crept into the room. The cover of darkness. When she finished her sandwich, she dried her face with the small cloth he’d handed her. “Please, can I…will you give me a towel?” She used the Italian word for towel, so he wrote the English word on her chalkboard. “I keep them over here,” he said, and showed her the drawer. Then he brought one to her. She reached out for it, but he shook his head and held it before him. “Stand up,” he said. She hesitated. “Please, will you…not look?” He closed his eyes as she stood, and heard water drip off her body. She took the towel from him, and when he opened his eyes, she had it wrapped around her.
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Let me dry you. He couldn’t bear to say the words, couldn’t bear to hear her refuse him. So he moved behind her again, where she couldn’t see him, where he couldn’t see the revulsion on her face, and reached around her, rubbing the towel gently over her belly. His breath quickened. She might be skinny, but she was still a woman, with a woman’s curves, a woman’s shape. A woman’s scent. Better—her scent was clean and fresh, not harsh with perfume like a whore. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in a long time. And never to one who smelled so sweet. She pulled away. God, no. Not yet. He wanted to hold her tighter, but he’d never force her. He let her go. She stepped out of the tub, then stood passively with her back to him, waiting. Waiting for him. His hands trembled as they came around her, wandering over her belly, across her thighs, then up to cup her breasts. He could barely feel her shape through the damned towel. But even so, was there anything more wonderful than feeling the body of a woman? Holding her slender form against his larger one? Imagining that she wanted him? No, nothing more wonderful had ever happened to him. Then she lowered the towel to her waist. And his hands touched her damp, silken skin.
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CHAPTER THREE Mariana leaned back into the solid heat of John’s chest as his hands smoothed magic over her body. She’d never imagined a man’s touch could make her feel so warm. His big hands were rough, calloused, but gentle. So gentle. How strange, that such gentle stroking could make her feel this yearning, this ache, that wasn’t gentle at all. She wanted to groan, and whine, and stamp her foot with frustration. And yet she didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop. His lips found her neck, kissing and…oh, he bit her, but it didn’t hurt, not at all. His tongue came out to soothe her, and she shuddered when his breath heated her wet skin. His hands caressed her bosom, stroking her over and over again, as if he’d never touched anything as pleasing. Other men had touched her, through her clothing. Nothing had ever felt remotely like this. His rough skin caught on her nipples, and she felt a rush of heat deep inside, between her thighs. She felt empty…achy…needy. And she knew, she suddenly understood, why a woman would give her body to a man she hadn’t married. Why a woman would willingly lie back and let a man spread her legs. Now she knew how much a man could make a woman ache. How much John could make her ache. John, with his wicked-looking scar and gruff voice and callused, gentle, tormenting hands. She wanted John to press her down on that narrow bed, and spread her legs, and cover her with his huge body, and go up inside her. Now. The towel slipped from her nervous fingers, pooling over her feet. She felt the rough canvas of his pants against her bare bottom, felt the hard bulge of his male member against the small of her back. The part of him that would go inside her. That would take her virginity forever. His hand squeezed her breast, carefully, his thumb grazing the nipple with tantalizing heat. And his other hand, his other wicked, wicked hand, drifted over her ribs, over her stomach, lower…lower…ah, would he touch her there? And then would he put her on her back, put her on her back and spread her legs? Take her innocence? Did she really want him to? She wanted him, yes. But…if he took her, and didn’t marry her, she’d be ruined. Forever. She caught that wandering hand in hers. “Stop,” she gasped. “Stop?” His hot breath tickled her neck. She swallowed. Only in Italian would her words make sense. He could teach her the English later. If he cared to. “I will never deny you when you are my husband,” she said. “But tonight…tonight you are not my husband. Not yet.” His thumb grazed her nipple again. She squeezed her eyes closed, denying the pleasure.
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“I will be your husband soon enough,” he murmured in Italian. His mouth found that sensitive spot on her neck, below her ear, nibbling gently. “For tonight, Mariana, for this one night, can I not be your lover?” Her knees went loose, made her lean back against him. Oh, he knew exactly how to make this difficult for her. Exactly how to weaken her resolve. But as much as she wanted him, as much as she feared rousing his anger, she could not lie with him out of wedlock. He already thought she was weak, especially now that she’d failed at doing the laundry. What if he sent her away? After taking her innocence? No man would have her then. “When can we be married?” she asked. “Tomorrow?” Perhaps he wouldn’t mind waiting one day. Just one more day. His thumb teased her nipple again, and then he moved his hand to her stomach. Her breast felt chilled at the loss of his heat. “Not until Sunday,” he answered. “The preacher won’t be back in town until Sunday.” More than half a week away. “Sunday? But…that’s St. Valentine’s Day.” He grunted, as though he didn’t care. “Is it?” What a wonderful coincidence. She’d been thinking of last Valentine’s Day, of how happy she’d been, and now she’d be married one year later. Married on the day that celebrated love. Surely that would bring good luck to their marriage. She smiled. “How perfect, to be married on Valentine’s Day.” He pulled his hands away and moved back, until he wasn’t touching her at all. Was he angry? Would he send her away now, if she didn’t let him take her tonight? “Don’t you think that will be a perfect wedding day?” she asked hopefully. “A good omen?” “You wish to wait?” She turned her head. In the shadows, with the moonlit window behind him, she couldn’t see his face at all. “I do,” she said. He turned his face to the window, away from her. “Until Valentine’s Day, then.” His voice sounded rough. Rougher than usual. She bent and picked up the forgotten towel, wrapping it around her. A bit late for modesty, but she was cold without his heat surrounding her. “Until our wedding,” she corrected. He was closer to the window now, and she saw his forbidding scowl. “Until Valentine’s Day,” he said. “Until Sunday. You had best pray it doesn’t snow, or there will be no wedding.” But there would still be a bedding. His meaning was clear. He looked angry and fierce. Had he looked so when he’d been touching her? She hadn’t seen his face. Without his hands on her, without his body pressing against her back, she felt bereft and alone. Was she foolish to insist on this? Her body still hummed from his touch. Still ached deep inside, between her legs. Where he would put himself, if she let him. And he seemed an honest man. She’d asked him to stop, and he had stopped. Surely he wouldn’t abandon her after he took her virginity. If he took her, he’d be obligated to marry her. Was this how women convinced themselves to lie with men who weren’t their husbands? How they happily agreed to ruin themselves? She didn’t care. She didn’t care at all. “John…if you don’t want to wait…”
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“Yes?” He sounded harsh, growling the English word after all that smooth-sounding Italian. How to tell him she’d changed her mind? He’d think her foolish. Fickle. A silly, stupid woman. “If you don’t wish to wait…” She struggled to find the right words. “If you don’t wish to wait, I will not fight you tonight.” He stepped back as though she had struck him. “I will never force you. Never.” She reached out, but he ignored her. “I only meant…when we are married, it will be your right…and we will be married soon.” “I will never force you,” he repeated. “Not even when I have the right. Not even when you are my wife.” He grabbed his coat and stomped to the door. “Put some clothes on,” he growled. He slammed outside with a rush of cold air, leaving her standing naked and alone next to the cooling tub of water. Leaving her before she could tell him that she’d used the wrong word. She hadn’t meant to say that she wouldn’t fight him. She’d meant that she wouldn’t resist.
***** His pitiful farm was small, but he walked the perimeter for over an hour, cooling his hot blood. This was exactly why he didn’t need a wife. He hadn’t thought of bedding a woman in days, and then she showed up. Now he could think of nothing else. And he’d be thinking about it for the next four days. Four long, agonizing days. And nights. He could still feel her skin, so warm, so soft; still taste her on his tongue. When she’d dropped that towel, he’d wanted to weep in relief. He’d wanted to turn her, and kiss her, and take her right there on the floor. And she’d wanted him, too. She’d trembled in his arms. But had she trembled with eagerness? Or fear? Valentine’s Day. Only a hopeless romantic would want to be married on Valentine’s Day. And from the breathy wonder in her voice when she’d told him that Sunday was Valentine’s Day, Mariana was clearly the worst sort of hopeless romantic. No doubt men had been making fools of themselves over her for years. She’d probably expect flowers—in the middle of winter—and a hand-made card, and poetry. Poetry about her eyelashes. He snorted. Not from him. He’d marry her, and he’d bed her—he’d even be gentle about it, as gentle as he could be after waiting through four long nights—but he wasn’t going to wrap it up in romantic nonsense. She acted as though this was a fairytale marriage. As though he’d courted her. Hell, he’d paid her parents for a woman to warm his bed, for a woman to help him work this hardscrabble farm. They’d been more than happy to turn over a daughter—two daughters—in exchange for his lire. Well, Mariana had determination, at least. She must have been in agony long before she’d wrung the last of the laundry dry. If she could stand that much pain, perhaps she could stand the pain of lying with him.
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But he wouldn’t cause her pain. Not too much, at least. Hell, if she wasn’t a virgin, he wouldn’t hurt her at all. He stumbled a little on the uneven ground. And if she was a virgin, well, he’d do his best not to hurt her badly. That last whore, the one he’d paid to show him what a woman liked, had told him it always hurt a woman the first time. He hadn’t known that when he’d taken his first wife to bed. But now he knew how to make it hurt less. And now he knew how to pleasure a woman. As he’d been pleasuring Mariana tonight. Enough. If he kept thinking about bedding his almost-wife, he’d never lose this cockstand. Would he sleep at all, with her lying next to him in that narrow bed? He headed toward the farmhouse. The window glowed with light in the cold, frosty night. She must have lit the lamp. He stomped up the porch, making enough noise to warn her he was coming. God knew he didn’t want to surprise her half-naked. Not since he’d made that damned promise. When he stepped into the warmth and shut the door, he didn’t see her at all. She wasn’t in bed, but the bed was made, the blankets back in place. The laundry was all still hanging, so she must have found the spare set of linens. Where the hell was she? He took off his coat and hung it, then came further into the room. God damn it. She was lying on the floor, between the tub and the stove, wrapped in a single blanket. “What the hell are you doing?” he all but shouted. She turned and looked up at him with frightened blue eyes. “Sleeping?” His jaw clenched. “Get in the damned bed.” “I wish to sleep here,” she said, her voice wavering. “Like hell.” He strode across the room and bent, gathering her up. She squeaked like a mouse when he stood up. Lord, she weighed less than a sack of potatoes. He dropped her on the bed. “I will sleep on the floor,” he said. That tone would have gotten no argument from Francesca, but certainly her stubborn sister would give him one. “But…this is your house.” Yes, he’d known she’d argue. “You need rest,” he said. “So do you.” “Sleeping on the floor will stiffen your arms,” he answered. “With useless arms, you’re no use to me.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked rapidly. “Please, don’t be angry.” She said it in Italian. He must be scaring the hell out of her. By the cross, he hadn’t meant to frighten her. The bed frame creaked as he sat next to her on the mattress. “Did you think that if I found you in bed, I would break my promise?” She shook her head. But why else would she be on the floor? He knew, from bitter experience, that few people were willing to trust a man who looked as hideous as he did. It was human nature to mistrust the ugly, and to think the best of beautiful people. She’d have to learn to trust him. He’d given her little reason to trust him so far.
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He stroked her hair back with one hand. She wiped her eyes, but didn’t flinch away from his touch. “Four nights on the floor won’t hurt me,” he said. “But—” “No arguments,” he said, talking over whatever she added. “And tomorrow you’ll rest your arms. You shouldn’t have made the bed.” “Made the bed,” she repeated. Then she smiled. “What a strange way to say. I didn’t make the bed. I put linens on the bed.” When she smiled like that, his thoughts scattered. He just stared, wishing he could unwrap that blanket and look at her body through whatever threadbare garment she had on. “Unwrap yourself and get under the covers,” he said, standing up. “I need that blanket.” She unwrapped the blanket, revealing a voluminous gray flannel nightgown that had been Francesca’s. Nothing could have cooled his blood faster than seeing her in one of Francesca’s nightgowns. “We will share the bed,” she said. Had he heard her right? Yes, he was sure of it. She stood up suddenly and rushed to the table, then picked up one of her dictionaries. She held it up to the light as she flitted from page to page. He spread her cocoon blanket across the bed while she searched for words. “Which side?” she said at last, triumphantly. “Which side do you want?” The side you’re on, he thought. With you underneath me. And out of that nightgown. “I don’t care.” She set down the book and walked to the bed, standing so close, he could see a tiny freckle on her forehead. “Which side?” she asked again. Stubborn girl. “Take this side,” he answered. It would put her closer to the warmth of the stove, farthest from the drafty door. She slid into the bed, and he blew out the lamp so she wouldn’t see him strip down to his long johns. He got into bed and settled on his side, as close to the edge as possible. God help him if she curled up against his back in her sleep. “John?” He’d never get to sleep if she kept chattering. He grunted in response. “Thank you for promise,” she said softly. Well, what else did she expect? She’d pulled away from him. She’d asked for that promise. And like legions of men before him, he’d been unable to deny a woman. “We’ll be married soon enough,” he answered. And then she wouldn’t refuse him. If she did, he’d go mad.
***** He dreamed of her, of course. He dreamed that she turned to him in her sleep, pressed herself against him, and lifted her lips to his. His fingers tangled in her hair. So silky, so fine.
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He kissed her like he’d kiss a whore, licking deep within her mouth, feeling the sharp edges of her teeth, the raspy glide of her own tongue. His hand cupped the back of her head, held her still, while his mouth ravaged hers. She made a tiny noise, a noise he couldn’t interpret. Protest? Surrender? Desire? Hell, it was his dream. Of course she desired him in his dreams. He broke the kiss, gasping for air. Felt her pulling away, and wrapped an arm around her, crushing her close, closer. He rubbed his face in her tangled hair, uncovering her ear, and nipped the lobe, licked along the edge. In the darkness, with no sight, only touch and sound existed. The weight of the blankets, the heat of her skinny body, the smoothness of her skin, the little sighs and drawn breaths she made as he kissed and nipped along her neck. He rolled to his side, facing her, and his hand slid down her back. Too skinny. He reached lower and cupped her beautiful ass with his greedy hand, dragging her closer. His aching cock pressed against her belly. He shunted his hips, driving himself as though he was deep inside her. Hell, this was a dream. He could fuck her in his dreams. Her slim little fingers stroked down his arm, took his hand, and dragged it away from her ass. He pulled against her, resisting, but she tugged his hand away, brought it between them…and then he found his hand on her breast. He groaned and stroked her through the thick, soft flannel of her nightgown. Damned flannel. If only she was in that threadbare shift, he could feel her better. Or naked. Yes, naked. He wished the flannel away, but his dream didn’t cooperate. He tugged at the neckline of her gown, frantic to get to that silky skin, to take that rockhard nipple in his mouth. She grabbed at his hand. “John. John. Basta. Basta. Stop.” Her voice penetrated the haze of sleep. Good Lord, she was grappling with him. He really was pulling at her nightgown, trying to tear it off of her. He yanked his hand back and rolled away. The room was still pitch black, but a solitary bird singing outside told him it must be close to dawn. God, he was no better than an animal. Tearing at her clothes, pawing her… He’d nearly ravished her in his sleep, and here he lay panting to catch his breath like a demented man. He’d apologize. And then he’d finish the night on the floor. The floor wouldn’t be nearly as hard as his aching cock. Her little hand fumbled over his chest, his shoulder, down his arm, until she found his hand. Her fingers clasped his with more strength than he’d thought she possessed. “Is not problem, John,” she whispered. Forgiving him before he asked. “You were asleep. We both were asleep.” Then she lifted his hand, and pressed a kiss to his forefinger. God help him, he wanted to drag her against him, feel those lips against his mouth again. Silky skin stroked the back of his hand—her cheek, no doubt. She brought their joined hands to her chest, and he felt her fumbling, fumbling with…was she undoing her buttons? And then his palm was against her naked breast, feeling a hard nipple under his rough fingers. God, did she…did she want this? Hell, she’d put his own hand on her naked flesh. But idiot that he was, he had to question his great good fortune.
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“I won’t take you,” he muttered. “I swear I won’t take you. Just let me…just let me touch you.”
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CHAPTER FOUR To John, it seemed an age before she answered. An age of feeling nothing but the inviting swell of her breast under his immobile hand, of hearing nothing but his panting breath and the distant bird song outside. “Very well,” she whispered. And she arched a little, pressing her small breast more firmly into his hand. Very well, indeed. He squeezed, and fondled. And shifted to lean over her, leaning forward until his mouth brushed her silky hair. He kissed his way over her cheekbone, down her face, until he found her mouth, kissing her gently this time, restraining himself. He could be gentle. And for all her apparent willingness, one wrong move could send her running, could frighten her into pulling away. He’d sooner die. He knew enough to go slowly. How long before he could thrust his tongue into her mouth? Before he could suck at her breasts? Before he could press his cock against her thigh? He didn’t want to frighten her by moving too quickly. And this was heaven in itself, just kissing her, kissing her over and over again, while his hand learned the shape, the texture, of her breasts. His fingers strummed a taut, urgent nipple. Her tongue licked at his lips, teasing him, then flitted into his own mouth with rapid little thrusts. She had some experience with kissing, it would seem. Of course she did. God only knew how many men had kissed her. Or fondled this firm little breast. How many other hands had she lifted to her bare bosom? He pulled his mouth away from her eager lips. “Are you a virgin?” Damn. He hadn’t meant to ask. She gasped. “Of course I’m a virgin. How dare you?” she said, in rapid Italian. “What kind of woman do you think I am? Just because I allow the man I intend to marry to—” He put his hand over her mouth to stop her. “I meant no disrespect,” he said. Lord, what a stupid thing to say. Nothing was more disrespectful than questioning the virginity of an unmarried girl. How could he salvage this? He took his hand from her mouth and cupped her breast again. “You seem to enjoy this.” “Should I not?” She still sounded angry. Angry and challenging. “Oh, I’m very glad that you do,” he said truthfully. “But I was surprised.” He grazed her nipple with his thumb. Still taut, still firm. Still lusciously suckable. She made no protest. He’d assume he was forgiven. And his lips had better uses than talking. He bent his head, searching. His mouth touched her collarbone, slid lower, and she seemed to hold her breath, waiting. He licked over the curve of her breast, and finally, finally, his tongue laved her nipple. She gasped and held his head tight, her fingers tugging at his hair. He suckled on her deeply, trying to take the whole of her breast into his mouth.
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She squirmed impatiently, lifting her hips against him, setting fire to his blood. Little cries came from her throat, shameless, urgent noises. He knew what she needed. And soon he’d give it to her. But first he’d torment her just a little bit more. He moved to her other little breast and licked…just licked…finding the nipple already peaked, loving how she lifted against him, seeking more, loving how she made a frustrated little sound. She wanted him. She truly wanted him. Praise the saints for the darkness. In the light, she’d look at him in horror. In the dark, there was only the touch of his hands, his mouth. He nipped the slope of her breast, and she squeaked in surprise. He smiled and gave in, took her in his mouth fully, suckled deeply, felt the hard nub of her nipple against the roof of his mouth. She whimpered again. Her hands left his hair and skimmed his neck, sliding under his collar. Then he felt her unbuttoning the top of his long johns, and finally her hands brushed over his chest. Her fingers combed through his chest hair. “You’re very warm,” she said. “And…so much hair.” Even in bed, she would chatter. He dragged his mouth from her tender breasts and kissed her, filling her with his tongue, and she kissed him back, thrusting her own tongue against his. The kiss of a woman who wanted. As he wanted. He stroked over her back again, found the slope of her behind, and let his hand fondle her ass. She made no protest, not even when he wandered over her hip, when he slipped the hem of her nightgown up to her thighs…not even when he felt the wiry curls of her pussy. She was well-furred, very well-furred. If only he could see the color of this wild bush. Imagination filled in the gaps left by the darkness. Perhaps a light chestnut brown, like her eyebrows. Yes. But when he pressed his fingers down, down between her legs, she stiffened. He dragged his mouth from hers and nuzzled against her neck. “Let me touch you,” he pleaded. “I won’t take you. I swear it.” Her thighs trembled, he felt that against his hand, but then they relaxed a bit. Enough that he could dip just a little lower, low enough to rub light circles over her hidden bud. Her clit. He knew the English word. But he wouldn’t go deeper, wouldn’t touch it directly, not yet, not until— She moaned. Yes, she moaned. So he spread his fingers apart, opening her, delving deeper, until his fingertips were right on top of her tiny bud, stroking it in slow, easy circles. Her hips lifted a little, and she moved, showing him the rhythm she liked, the pressure she needed. Even a rough, callused hand like his could feel the silky skin of her cunt, could feel the sensitive bud of her clit, could feel the wet warmth oozing from her flesh. Thank God he knew how to pleasure her. Thank God she was willing to let him. She even spread her legs a little, giving him more access to her pussy. Trusting him. He slipped low with just one finger, found her virgin opening, and pressed inside, a little bit inside, only up to his first knuckle—ah, she was wet, flowing. He spread the slippery fluid over her bud. “I’m wet,” she gasped, surprised. “Why am I so wet?” Was there ever a time this woman was silent? All he could think of was the slick wet heat of her cunt, and how tight she’d feel around his poor cock, and she asked questions. He had to clear his throat to speak. “Your body is preparing to join with mine.” Preparing with a vengeance. 85
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She stiffened. “You promised—” “Hush. Your body may be prepared, but I know you aren’t.” He kept stroking her in slow, easy circles. She relaxed then. “Thank you.” “When you’re ready—” He stopped. No, he wouldn’t give her a chance to delay him even more. “On Sunday…on Valentine’s Day, when I take you fully, this wetness will ease the joining.” Impossible to resist, with temptation so close. He slid his finger deep inside her passage, and nearly lost control when she squeezed down on him. He clenched his teeth. This was her night for pleasure, and he’d pleasure her properly. Patience now would reward him later. By Sunday, she’d be eager for him to fuck her. So he withdrew, and kept circling, just a little harder, just a little faster. Her breath came in quick gasps now, her hips moving in tandem with his fingers. He nuzzled against her chest, found a breast, and suckled. She moaned then, and writhed under him, and pressed her clit harder against his fingers. And suddenly her hips froze, her breath caught, but he kept rubbing, stroking, rubbing, stroking. She gave a sharp little cry, then her body convulsed under his hand. Even his lips, against her breast, felt her shake with her release. He’d have given anything, anything, to see her face in that moment. But if he’d been able to see her face, she’d have been able to see his. And then she’d never have allowed him to touch her sweet pussy like this. When she stilled, he stopped rubbing her and cupped her mound in his hand. She turned her face into his chest, nuzzling against him. He felt her sigh, felt her hand curl into a little fist against his chest, against her mouth. He took his hand from her pussy and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. In the dark, she couldn’t see what he did. With his forearm behind her head, she’d think he was simply holding her. He licked his fingers, tasting her musky juice. Wonderful, musky juice. Someday he’d tongue her pussy. She was a passionate little thing. She’d like it. He’d love it. God, his cock was achingly hard. With his other hand, he furtively stroked himself through his clothes. When she fell asleep, he’d see to his own ease. She stirred a little against his chest. “What—what is the word for what you do to me?” She couldn’t mean the fondling of her sweet parts. She must mean the climax. “You came,” he answered. “What?” “You came.” “Like…I came on the boat? I came from Italy?” “Yes. The same words can mean different things.” “I understand.” He felt her words, her breath, against his chest. “Can you…can I touch you and…can you come?” Praise be to whatever saint had blessed him tonight. He took her slender hand from his chest and pressed it against his cock, showed her how to rub him through his underclothes.
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And he lifted his hips against her untutored movements, just as she’d lifted hers against his hand moments ago. She kissed his neck, then his chin. Her hair caught on his whiskers as she moved higher, and kissed his mouth. He could barely breathe from the wonder of her stroking hand, but he kissed her deeply, breaking away only when she took her hand off his cock. He groaned. But then he felt her pulling at his clothes, tugging at buttons, and suddenly her hand was against his hot, hard skin. He reached down and wrapped her slender hand around his cock, taught her how hard to grasp, how quickly to pump. His free arm pulled her closer, and his hand stroked over her ass. If only he was inside her, deep inside her, pumping away as he cupped this soft round ass in his hands… He groaned, and forced her hand tighter, faster…and his hips left the bed as he came, gushing hot seed onto his belly. After he caught his breath, he took her hand away and kissed her fingers. He should thank her, tell her how much she’d pleased him, but…he couldn’t bring himself to voice the words. She was the talkative one. He just wanted to pull her skinny body tight against him, and relish the bliss of release. And sleep for another hour or two. But first he had to wipe off his seed. Somehow her arms and legs were holding onto him as tightly as he was holding her. He untangled himself and left the bed, carefully feeling his way to the sink. He wiped his stomach dry with a cloth rag, tossed it to the floor, then went back to the bed and slid under the covers. “What do you do?” she asked. Of course she’d want to know. She was such a curious girl. “I'm wiping away my seed.” “Seed? That’s the English word?” He pulled her against him. “Yes.” “Seed,” she repeated. “Like a plant’s seed.” “Yes.” She rearranged herself, scooting up the bed, no doubt so her head could rest on her pillow. “I understand. It’s called seed because a man’s seed grows a baby.” He felt down along her stomach and lightly stroked her wiry bush. “Only if it is planted where it can take root.” “Is it not a sin, to spill your seed where it can’t take root?” He’d never get back to sleep, with all these questions. “Yes. But it would be a greater sin to take you against your will.” She yawned. “Is it proper, that I ask the English words for…for mating things?” More questions. “Yes. But don’t write these words on your chalkboard,” he teased. “They are only proper between husband and wife.” “Or between…lovers.” She used the Italian word. Yet they weren’t really lovers. Not until Valentine’s Day. He could think of no response. “What is the English word for my…privates?” she asked, again substituting the Italian. He listed all the words in his head, words too crude or ridiculous to share with a woman. “Your pussy,” he said at last. She started a little. “Like a cat?”
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He yawned. “Yes.” “Strange. I wonder why…that word?” He smiled at her hesitation to say the word. A completely innocent word, except now she knew its other meaning. He’d never have dared to reply in the daylight. In the darkness, he’d dare anything. “Perhaps because both kinds of pussy are so nice to pet,” he said. She gasped, then giggled. “You’re a wicked man.” She had no idea. Not yet. “And will you tell me the word for your…for your privates?” she asked. He knew only one word in English. “My cock. Like a rooster,” he answered, before she could ask. “I have no idea why.” “A rooster is also called a cock?” “Yes.” He felt her shake her head. “Crazy language.” All languages were. “In Italian, we say al fresco, and it could mean either outside or in prison. Opposite meanings.” “That’s true,” she said. She curled up next to him with a yawn. Francesca had never relaxed against him like this. By the cross, he’d not make the same mistakes with Mariana. He’d take her gently, gently. He’d make her wet with her own fluid, with moisture from his mouth…he’d open her with his fingers, stretching her virgin flesh…and when his cock breached her, she would be ready. She’d feel no pain from fucking him. And if he kept thinking like this, he would be hard again in a matter of moments. He kissed the top of her head. “It’s almost dawn. Get some more sleep.” She nodded, and yawned again. “It did feel very nice when you…pet me.” Hmm. Very nice, indeed. He’d have to teach her more English. Words like wonderful. Incredible. Blissful. “Domani, si vuoi—” He stopped, and switched to English. “Tomorrow night, if you wish it, I will pet your pussy again.” “I wish it.” She shifted a little, and he felt her move closer to him. Her slender hand came to rest on his hip. “And I will pet your cock,” she added. “And we will…come.” His cock stirred at the words. She sounded drowsy, sated with sexual pleasure. If she’d been more awake, he’d have taken her hand to his cock right then. Yes, this skinny, innocent young woman could warm his bed very well indeed. Even if she never had the strength to manage the laundry. Mariana would do this one thing well; Francesca had done everything else well, everything save this. But it had been his fault, not hers. Mariana had settled down at last. Her breath was slow and steady. Perhaps she slept. How much time before dawn? Only an hour, two at most. He yawned, and drifted toward sleep. “I feel so much different when you pet me,” she murmured. His brain was half asleep, and it took him a long, long moment to recognize the implication of her words. He sat straight up, wide awake. “Who else has touched you?” he demanded. No answer. Her breathing was deep, even; she slept. He tossed the blanket off and slid out of bed. Might as well get up. He’d have no more sleep this night, picturing another man’s hand between Mariana’s legs. 88
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CHAPTER FIVE Mariana woke up in a cocoon of warmth. How long had it been since she’d woken up to warmth? To soft, clean sheets? She stretched, reaching out across the bed with one arm, hoping to find John there. Nothing. Nothing but emptiness, and the slight stiffness in her arms, reminding her of the reason the sheets were so clean. John must be up already. John. Her lover. Her lover. She felt heat rise in her face, and grinned. Her lips felt bruised, a delicious soreness. His kisses had been so exciting. Rough and lusty. But his hands… For such a gruff, scary-looking man, he had surprisingly gentle hands. Amazing hands. Hands that knew her body better than she did, even in the dark. And when he’d taken her hand in his, and shown her how to touch him, how to make him tremble and groan, and lose his seed—how to make him come, oh, that had been even better. He’d been happy with her then. For the first time, she’d managed to please him. She couldn’t wait for Valentine’s Day. They’d be married. And then he’d lie on top of her, and press his cock inside her. Just like his finger had. Only better. Bigger. Much bigger. And she’d be so wet, it wouldn’t hurt at all. She squirmed, pressing her thighs together to ease the tension. What a wanton woman she’d become. If he were in bed with her now, she’d be tempted to let him take her, wedding ring or not. Where was he? She rolled over and opened her eyes. Bright sunlight streamed through the window. The laundry was down, and John sat at the table, drinking from a steaming, heavy cup. He looked tired, his great bushy brows drawn together in a frown. She sat up and smiled at him. “Good morning.” He didn’t look up, but he nodded once, briskly. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood. With his back to her, he walked to the stove and put the skillet over an open burner. Butter sizzled in the pan, and she heard the crack of an egg, the popping noise of rapid frying. She slid her stockinged feet onto the cold floor. He’d emptied the tub and moved it to a far corner of the room, all without waking her. She walked up behind him and peered around his side. “I want to make the breakfast this morning.” He cracked more eggs into the pan. “I like my own cooking fine.” He’d said that yesterday, too. Didn’t he want her to be useful? “My arms are much better,” she said. “I can get the milk…I mean, I can milk the cow, and get the eggs. And feed the chickens.” He tossed some chopped ham into the skillet. “I’ve done all that already.”
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Of course he had. There was a basket of eggs sitting next to his elbow. But why wouldn’t he look at her? Was he disappointed in her again? For not being awake sooner? Maybe he was just crabby in the morning. She got plates and forks and set the table, then added the remaining loaf of bread and the butter keeper. With his back to her, uninviting, he clearly wanted no help with the cooking. He clearly didn’t want to look at her at all. Where was the tender lover of last night? The man who’d held her close? She’d expected a good morning kiss. At least. “Today, I will make…I’ll make bread.” He glanced at her, then looked back at the eggs he was stirring. “No. Rest your arms today.” His voice sounded harsh, annoyed. Maybe he was still angry that she hadn’t been able to finish the laundry. Well, she could do nothing about that now. “Very well,” she said. “I will rest. I will…make again my sister’s clothes.” “You mean sew,” he said, his voice a little sharp. “Yes.” She’d look up the word later, make sure she could use it correctly. “Good. Your own clothes are awful.” Another word she didn’t know. But she didn’t need to look it up—the scorn in his voice told her what he thought. With a rag wrapped around the handle of the iron skillet, he brought the eggs to the table. He stood close to her, tilting the pan and using her fork to shovel eggs and ham onto her plate. She wanted to reach out, to rest her arm across his lower back, to lean her head against his side. Just to touch him, in some small way. But she didn’t dare, not with him acting so cold. As cold as he had when she’d first arrived. Maybe what they’d done in the night hadn’t been enough to keep him wanting her. Maybe her hand wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Maybe he still didn’t want her as a wife. He moved to his place, and she looked down. Why, he’d put nearly half of the scrambled eggs onto her plate. “I can’t eat so much,” she said. He ignored her, sat down, and started eating. Right out of the skillet, as if she hadn’t set a plate down for him. Fine. She could ignore him, too. The eggs were delicious, fluffy and warm, and the ham added just enough saltiness. He really didn’t need her to cook for him at all. But she wouldn’t compliment him. No doubt he’d be rude if she did. He rose, got the coffeepot, and poured more coffee into his cup. She caught his gaze as he finished. “Want some?” he asked grudgingly. She shook her head. He needn’t do her any favors. As soon as he sat down again, she stood and got water from the pump, filling a mug for herself. They ate in silence. He didn’t look at her, not once. Even though she was hungry, she had to force the food past her tight throat. What had she done? What had she failed to do? She cut a slice of bread, buttered it, and offered him none. He saw the bread; he could get it himself. She took a vicious bite.
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His chair scraped across the floor, and he stood. She didn’t look at him, but in a room this small, she couldn’t help but see him go to the door and take down his coat. He was leaving. Without a word. Without a kiss. Without even touching her. And she couldn’t bear to see him go away. “Where do you go?” she asked. “To town.” His tone invited no further questions. She ate three more bites of eggs before she could stand it no longer. “When did you return?” Oh, she’d said that wrong. Now he’d correct her, in that superior way of his. “Not until supper time,” he answered. He hadn’t bothered to correct her. Maybe he thought it no longer mattered. That she wouldn’t be here long enough to need to learn English. He must intend to eat the noon meal in town. Goodness, he planned to leave her alone all day. With nothing to do but make over her clothes. To sew. “Don’t go in the barn,” he said suddenly. She looked up. “Why no?” No, that was wrong. “Why not?” He looked annoyed, frowning and glowering at her. “The horse has colic,” he said. “If you disturb her, she might get worse.” “Colic?” “The horse is sick.” He sounded brusque, impatient. He pulled on a hat. “I’m going to get medicine for the horse.” Medicine. She wouldn’t ask him to spell it. “Can I help?” He scowled at her. “What could you do? Just stay inside and rest your arms.” He slung his scarf around his neck. She wouldn’t help him bundle up today. He could freeze for all she cared. But… “How will you go to town? Is long walk, to town and back again. Longer than one day—” “I’ll borrow one of Kathleen’s horses.” He left in a gust of cold wind, before she could even say goodbye. The big, stupid man. She slammed the dirty skillet into the sink. He didn’t even have the decency to eat from a plate. She washed the dishes, roughly, but nothing broke. Awful man. She had done nothing, nothing, to make him angry. She had done nothing but try to please him. She’d cleaned for him. She’d done the laundry—mostly. She’d let him touch her body, let him touch her in ways that no other man had dared. She’d let him touch her in ways that only a husband should. And she’d touched him. She’d made him come, too. But still he didn’t want her. Maybe he wanted more than her hand. Maybe he was angry that she wouldn’t let him go up between her legs. Not until they were married. But he should understand why she insisted. He should be pleased that she’d let him touch her, that she’d made him come. Would she ever be able to please him? To even make him smile?
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She didn’t care if he smiled, the big dumb ox. All she wanted was a home. She would make a home here, with him. And she would be happy. He could be angry if he wished. She built up the fire a little, then quickly changed into her day dress in the still-chilly morning air. Taking in Francesca’s huge nightgown would have to wait. She folded it and tucked it under a pillow on the bed. Kneeling in front of the chest that held her sister’s clothes, she slowly opened the lid. The contents reminded her so much of Francesca. The dresses were all dark, somber colors that would have suited Francesca’s complexion quite well. They’d make her own pale skin look sickly. But they were all in good condition, and the dark colors wouldn’t show dirt easily. Francesca had always been practical that way. She pulled out the lightest-colored dress, a burgundy high-necked cotton twill with long sleeves, and carried it to the small mirror that hung next to the sink. Yes, she looked paler in this color, but it was the best of the lot, suitable for winter. She’d need to work fast to have a respectable dress to be married in. At least the dress was almost red. A good color for a Valentine’s Day wedding. The color of love. She turned from the mirror. No sense in fooling herself. There would be no love for her this year. No love, only bed play. She dragged a chair to the window, where the light was strongest, and sat down with the dress and Francesca’s sewing box. No—her sewing box. Altering a dress of her older sister’s to fit herself was nothing new. She’d have to dart the bodice, take in the width of the skirt along the side seams, and lower the hem as much as she could. Then she’d try to alter the height of the waist to suit her own short-waisted proportions. Making a new dress from whole cloth would be a lot easier, but she’d never had the luxury of making new clothes for herself. She turned the dress inside out and started sewing tiny stitches along the sides of the bodice, darting the fabric to fit her own smaller bosom. She’d trim away the excess fabric after the new seams were in. She had nowhere near the bosom that Francesca had, and lumps of extra fabric under the seam would cause unnecessary wear. No, she never could have filled out Francesca’s bodice. And maybe she could never fill the hole Francesca had left in John’s life. Perhaps he resented her for trying? For being alive, with him, while Francesca was dead? If he loved her sister…and an unwanted woman tried to take her place…that would make any man angry. Perhaps when he’d touched Mariana in the night, he’d wanted her sister instead. But he’d been so…eager. Maybe now, in the light of day, he felt guilty for wanting another woman. She’d have to be brave and ask him. Ask him why he was angry. She would never be able to guess. She’d look up the English words and ask him properly. They would be married until death. If she wanted him to be a good husband to her, she must be a good wife to him. She would do whatever she could to please him. Perhaps she could never take Francesca’s place in John’s life. Or in his heart. But she would try. She would try.
*****
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The hour was late, the sun near set, when John rode into the barn. He checked on the sick horse as soon as he dismounted. Her belly was still distended, but she didn’t try to bite him when he touched her. Getting better. Maybe it wasn’t colic after all. But he dosed her water anyway, just in case, and left her fresh hay. Then he curried Kathleen’s horse and set to cleaning the tack. It was cold work, handling the freezing iron bits and saddle buckles, and he couldn’t wear gloves while he did it. Kathleen had told him to borrow the animal for a few days, until his own horse was set to rights. The least he could do was take proper care of her tack. He’d stayed in town longer than he’d wanted, making sure the preacher would be back on Sunday, leaving word that he’d have a wedding to perform after the service. Would Mariana mind that they didn’t have a Roman Catholic priest? Hell, he didn’t care. It’d be a legal marriage, and that was all that mattered. Once they were married, she’d have no reason not to let him fuck her. His jaw clenched. How could she smile at him so brightly this morning, all innocent and flushed from sleep, as if she’d never had another man’s hands up her drawers? Another man she may have loved. Hell. Maybe that was why she didn’t want to rut with him before they were married. Before she had to. He hung the tack and headed for the house. No sense in staying out any longer. This was his house, and no skinny little flirt of a girl was going to make him feel uncomfortable in it. The last thing he expected to hear when he stepped onto his porch was laughter. Hers. And a man’s. He pushed open the door and burst in. She sat at the table across from young Bill McNeil, the lamp lit between them, a dark reddish-brown dress spread on her lap, needle and thread in her hand. Their laughter startled into silence, and they looked up at him. “Hello, John,” Bill said. “My ma sent me ‘round with some fresh-baked bread and peach preserves.” No doubt it had been the boy’s idea. An excuse to come see Mariana. “You tell your ma that I said thank you,” he said. He turned away to hang up his coat. “Sure will. It’s no bother, though. She always bakes too much bread, and you know I’m not overly fond of peaches.” Mariana’s head came up from the dress she’d been sewing. “Over what?” she asked. Bill chuckled like an old friend comfortable with ribbing her about her English. “Overly fond,” he said. He reached under the table and came up with the chipped chalkboard, then wrote the words on it. “It means you like something.” John would swear the kid had winked at Mariana. As if to say he was overly fond of her. His hands clenched into fists. The knot between her eyebrows grew. “You meant you were happy to give the peaches away. But you like them? You are overly fond of them?” “I said ‘not’ first. I’m not overly fond. That means I don’t like them.” She smiled again. “Ah. Thank you for explaining.”
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Bill was close to her own age—probably just a couple of years younger than her. No doubt she’d rather be marrying someone like the boy. Handsome and young, able to talk and flirt with her easily. A man she’d want to fuck in the light. The hell she would. He’d kill the boy first. With his bare hands. By the saints, what was wrong with him, thinking of strangling this kid just because he’d been laughing with Mariana? And she’d probably been the one who’d started the flirting. No wonder Bill was sweet on her. He couldn’t blame the kid that Mariana was such a flirt. The room was silent again except for a slow drip from the pump. His presence had disturbed their happy little chat. Good. He went to the sink and jiggled the pump handle until it stopped dripping, just for something to do. A covered pot simmered on the stove, and he smelled cooked onions. He’d told the little fool to rest. Did she ever listen to a word he said? “I’d best be going,” Bill said at last. “It’s getting dark.” Dark. Tonight, in the dark, he could teach Mariana more bed tricks. Tricks with his mouth and tongue. Tricks that an innocent young girl could never imagine, tricks that would drive her wild, make her moan and scream. Tricks that would leave her a virgin in fact, if not in spirit. Maybe she knew them already. Bill was standing, collecting his coat. “Good night, Bill,” John said. “I am glad you came,” Mariana added. John caught her gaze, and raised an eyebrow. Her face went beet red. That’s what happened with dirty words. Now she couldn’t even use them in an innocent way. “Have a good night,” Bill said, closing the door behind him. John almost snorted. His idea of a good night would be stripping his wife—his almostwife—bare naked and finding out just how experienced she was. He’d wasted the whole day in town, mulled things over, and he was no closer to knowing what to do. He could ask her outright—How many men? What favors did you give them?—but could he believe her answers? She’d probably lie to keep him from throwing her out. She stood and folded the dress on which she’d been sewing, then laid it on the chest of Francesca’s clothes. Her gaze skipped over him as she came into the kitchen, got a bowl, and spooned out some of that savory-smelling food. She sat and started to eat. After a few minutes, she got up and sliced some bread for herself, as if he wasn’t standing right there glowering down at her. She sat back down without a word. Ah. So now she was ignoring him. Fine. If they didn’t talk, he didn’t have to worry about what the hell to say to her. The food smelled good, and he was hungry. He stirred the soupy concoction in the pot. Looked like carrots, potatoes, onions, and a ham hock, with some barley mixed in for thickening. He got a bowlful and sat across from her. He took a cautious bite. Not bad. Not bad at all. At least she was a decent cook. But she shouldn’t have done it today. Hell, she was probably still weak from the fever she’d had on the boat. “I told you to rest today. You won’t be able to do a lick of work around here if you wear yourself down.” 94
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Her chin went up in that stubborn tilt of hers, already so familiar. An argument was brewing. “I said to you this morning, my arms are better. And cooking is easy chore.” “Not easy enough. You couldn’t even hang the laundry last night.” Last night. He shouldn’t have mentioned last night. Her bath, her naked body against his, her tongue fluttering in his mouth. Her cunt dripping on his fingers. Her hand wrapped around his cock. Just last night. “Is this why you’re angry?” she asked. What? Oh, she wanted to know if he was angry because of the laundry. Her tone told him she’d pick a fight with him if he said yes. “I’m not angry.” She finished her supper in silence, eating her way through two bowls of stew and three slices of bread. With an appetite like that, how could she be so skinny? When she finished, she sat there waiting, still as stone, for him to finish his. He got another bowlful, then another, scraping the last out of the pot. He even took two slices of bread, just to make her wait a little longer. He knew the look of a woman spoiling for an argument. And he was hungry besides. He’d had lunch in the saloon, and the food was terrible there. He ate the last of his stew and pushed the bowl away. No sense in putting it off any longer. He looked straight at her across the table. And caught her looking at him with an odd, sad expression on her face. Wishing he was another man? She dropped her gaze, stood up, and carried the bowls to the sink. He heard her pump fresh water, scrub the dishes and pot, and rinse them. He sat there through it all, with nothing to say. “John.” She spoke from behind him. He didn’t turn around. “Why are you angry at me?” she asked, calmly. “I’m not angry.” He heard her sigh softly. “If we are to be married, we must be…honest.” That was the problem—he wasn’t at all sure he wanted honesty from her. He wanted to think he was the only man who’d ever touched her. Even though he knew it wasn’t the truth. But he couldn’t go on brooding like this. It’d be easier to say it with her behind him, where she couldn’t see his face. “I’m angry because you let another man touch you.” “What?” Did she not understand his English? “You let another man touch your pussy. Make you come.” She gasped. “I do not!” He jumped up and turned to face her. “Don’t lie to me, Mariana. You’re the one going on about honesty.” She blushed, bright spots of color in her pale cheeks. Her gaze went to the left, the right, the floor. Anywhere but him. “No one but you has…done that,” she said. “Don’t lie to me!” He wanted to grab her arms, but he might shake her if he did. He raked a hand through his hair instead. “You told me, last night, that it felt different when I touched you. Different than what? Different than whose God damned hand?”
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A horse whinnied in the barn. Mother of God, he’d nearly shouted the roof down. Her face turned crimson. She brought her hands up, covering her eyes, her blushing face. “Different…different than my hand,” she muttered from behind her fingers. Ah, she’d fondled herself. No man but him had felt that tender pussy. No man but him would ever fuck her. “Good,” he said fiercely. She took her hands down from her face, wringing them in front of her waist. “You no think I’m bad?” He shook his head and tried to smile at her. But the thought of her touching herself with those long, slim fingers had his cock lifting in his pants. She gave him a small smile in return. “John, you are…are you…” She darted around him, found her books on a narrow shelf, and looked up a word. “Are you jealous?” Lucky for her she was across the room. “No. I was angry. It’s natural for a man to want an innocent wife.” She frowned. “I am no innocent now. After last night.” Oh, no. She couldn’t expect him to sleep on the floor. Not after having her in his bed. He’d go insane. “You’re going to be my wife. Whatever we do together, so close to our wedding, is all right.” She blew out a gust of air, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Then you still wish to…marry?” After she’d spent last night alone with him, and the McNeils and everyone in town knew it, he had no choice. “Yes.” “Not angry? You’re not anymore angry?” She looked worried. Didn’t she know he’d only been angry about another man touching her? “No.” She gave him a little half-smile. “When I make you angry…say me why.” “Tell me why,” he corrected. No sense in answering her. What she asked would never happen. When he got mad, nothing of sense came out of his mouth. Silence was better. She took a step toward him, her hand out as if to touch him, and he retreated, turning his back on her. He couldn’t touch her with the lamp lit. And he didn’t want to blow it out just yet. He wanted…he wanted to see her, see her body, without her being able to look at him. Like he had last night when she’d bathed. “Show me,” he said. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
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CHAPTER SIX “What?” She sounded shocked, not confused. She’d understood him. He reached for the lamp and turned it down, just enough so that she wouldn’t be able to see him clearly. Then he turned to face her. The problem with dimming the lamp, of course, was that now he couldn’t see her clearly either. “Show me,” he said again. “I want to see you touch yourself.” He might not be able to see her clearly, but he could hear her, breathing hard. “I will be…I will feel…” She stepped to the table and reached for her dictionary. She’d have to turn up the damned lamp to read it. “Just say it in Italian.” “I’ll be too embarrassed.” She looked embarrassed already, her gaze somewhere around his stomach, avoiding his eyes. “Pretend I’m not here.” “Pretend you’re not here?” She shook her head. “That will be difficult.” She said the second half in English, showing how much she’d learned already. If she wouldn’t do this for him, he couldn’t blame her. It was such a personal thing. But he wanted to see it. Wanted desperately to see it. “Pretend you’re alone, in your bed, with privacy, and nothing but time. Time to pleasure yourself.” In the dim light, he could barely see her bite her lip. “It would please you?” If she knew how hard his cock was already, she wouldn’t bother to ask. “Yes.” She sat down at the table, bent over, and unbuttoned her shoes. Slowly. She left them lying under the table, stood up, and went to the bed. With her back to him, she stripped off her dress and shift, folding them neatly and setting them on top of the chest that held her sister’s clothes. Turn. Turn. She didn’t. Would she lie on the bed like this, in just her drawers? Reach into the slit between her legs to get to her pussy? He hoped she’d be naked. But she slipped that huge, ugly gray nightgown over her head, and took her drawers down underneath the bulky flannel, not even giving him a glimpse of her ankles when she pulled off her stockings. She should have a nightgown that fit her. A soft little virginal white nightgown made of fine cotton, with a long row of buttons down the front…buttons that he could undo to get at her breasts. Something pretty for him to strip off of her on their wedding night. Not this horrid flannel bag that Francesca had worn. She didn’t look at him before she lay down, facing away from him. He walked silently to the other side of the bed so he could see. Her eyes were closed, her hands stroking her breasts through her nightdress. Her mouth opened as her breathing quickened. What was she thinking of? The things they’d done in the night? She rolled onto her stomach, tucked her hands underneath her hips, and pulled the nightgown up to her thighs. Her ass lifted, making room for her hands.
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He moved to the foot of the bed, watching her ass move in a quick rhythm. Her long, skinny legs were bared up to the thigh, but the hem of the damned nightgown was caught at the bottom of her ass. He couldn’t see her pussy, couldn’t see her wriggling fingers. His gaze locked on that swaying ass. He pictured himself under her, fucking her, with her ass moving on top of him in this same rhythm. No—he pictured himself behind her, kneeling between those skinny legs, lifting that concealing flannel, and running his hand over the soft skin of her bottom. He pictured himself kissing her ass, spreading her cheeks wide, licking and pressing his tongue to her bottom hole. Aw, hell. He was on the bed before he knew it, kneeling between her legs and grabbing the hem of her gown. She jerked with a surprised start, but didn’t protest. “Don’t stop,” he said. He pulled up her nightdress, uncovering her beautiful ass. Her skin glowed creamy and pink in the dim light from the lamp. He could barely see the tips of her fingers, flashing between her legs, rubbing quickly, more quickly than he’d rubbed her last night. He pressed his mouth to her ass, kissing, licking. She gasped, and kept rubbing her little clit. He licked again, licked and nipped and kissed, finding his way to her crease. And he licked that cleft, licked down to her pussy and back again. Delicious. Better than he’d imagined. He pressed the tip of his tongue to her puckered knot, thrusting against the tight muscles, squirming to get inside. And she moaned, and pushed back against his face, and her whole body rocked and shook. She came. He held her for a long, long moment, his cock achingly hard. When she started to turn, he got up and blew out the light. Much as he’d enjoy seeing her blush, he didn’t want her to see his face. The moon wasn’t bright tonight, but he’d make sure he stayed behind her anyway. “John? What do you do?” “What are you doing,” he said automatically, stripping off his shirt. “I’m getting undressed.” “Oh.” He’d love to hold her naked body against his as he came. “Why don’t you get undressed, too?” She didn’t answer. Perhaps she was still too nervous with him. He stripped off his clothes, including his long johns. At least he could feel her nightgown-clad body against his bare skin. When he got back to the bed, he found the covers turned down. Reaching out a hand, he felt her bare shoulder. Ah, God bless her. He slid under the covers and pulled her against him, her back to his front. She drew in a sharp breath. He loosened his arm. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. I like this…skin to skin.” So did he. She felt cool against him. He’d warm her soon enough. He kissed the back of her head. Her hair was still down, loose and long. Maybe she never put it up before bed. “Do you like…watch me?” she asked.
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Couldn’t she tell? His cock was throbbing and hard against her bare ass. He nudged her with it a little. “Yes.” His raging cock settled into the crease of her ass. The ass he’d licked. At the memory, he thrust gently against her. She was still wet from his mouth. His cock slid easily along her slippery skin. He reached up and cupped her breast, stroked her nipple. Such big nipples for such little breasts. Big, and already peaked. From desire, or from cold? He gently pinched one of those big nipples, and she gave a soft little squeal. Ah. Hard from desire. He thrust again, and again, setting a rhythm as though he was buried inside her. Her flesh dragged at his cock, heady friction. He rubbed his face against her hair, moving it aside, and bit her neck. She jerked a little. “Do you want…” Her words sounded raspy. “Do you want me touch your cock?” Hearing dirty words from her innocent mouth almost made him come right then. “No,” he gasped. “No, I’ll come like this, pretending I’m inside you.” He stopped moving, struck by a memory. He’d heard men talk about a way to take a woman without giving her a child. A way that would leave Mariana a virgin. “There is a way. A way I can go inside you but leave you a virgin.” “Will it hurt?” “I don’t know. Tell me if it does. ” He held his cock in one hand, seeking along her crack, and nudged her back opening with the tip. She was still wet with his saliva, wet and slippery. She gasped. “There?” He’d never wanted this before. But now, with Mariana’s firm round ass at his mercy, with his cock nudging against her rear hole, he wanted nothing more. “Yes, here.” But he couldn’t take her this way if she didn’t want it. “All right?” “You…you want?” His hand moved to her hip and pulled her back against him, pressing his cock just a fraction of an inch into her heat. “Yes. But only if you wa—” Hell. There was no way she could want this. “You promise…I will still be virgin?” “I promise.” She drew a deep breath. “Very well.” He took his cock in one hand, wrapping his fingers around all but the head, to keep himself from thrusting into her tight hole too deeply. He pressed in, just a little, just putting the head of his cock in her, and felt her tense those sensitive muscles. She clamped down on his cockhead so hard he winced, and felt sweat on his brow. She wriggled a little, but didn’t move away. “Oh, it feels so…so strange.” It felt unbelievably good to him. Hot, forbidden, daring. “Bad? Hurting you?” “No…no.” He stroked her hip with his hand. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” She put one hand over his. “Tell me…how to make you come.”
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God. Here he was, half buried in her luscious virgin ass, and all she could think of was pleasing him. “Relax.” “What does it mean?” He said it in Italian. “Just let go. Trust me.” She relaxed then, opening around the head of his cock, and he pushed in another inch. Her fingers tightened on his hand, but she made no protest. He took his other hand off his cock and pressed full inside her. She gasped. He groaned. Ah, God. She was tight, so tight, and fiery hot. He rested against her, not thrusting, letting her get used to him. To having him inside her. He tugged his hand away from hers and played with her breasts again, teasing her nipples to hardness. His mouth found her ear and licked inside. When he blew his breath in her ear, she pushed back against him. He couldn’t wait anymore. He rocked against her, with gentle, shallow thrusts, strumming her breast as he eased himself in and out. Her ass gripped his cock tightly, so tightly, tighter than any hand. He could have come in a minute, but she deserved some small portion of the pleasure he felt. He smoothed his hand over her stomach to her pussy, but her own hand was there before him. She snatched her hand away with an embarrassed little cry. “Don’t,” he gasped. “Show me what you need.” She put trembling fingers over his and pressed down, showing him the quick strokes she liked. His hips quickened to match her pace, moved with the same rhythm. He heard her breath catch, felt her fingers still, and knew she was close, very close. He thrust a little harder, a little faster, kept his fingers moving, and when she shuddered, he let go, exploding inside her tight little hole. When his breath was even, he nuzzled against her neck through the curtain of her hair. She reached back and stroked his cheek. His scarred cheek. Thank God she couldn’t see it. He pulled her closer, and jostled her a little higher. His limp, happy cock slid out of the hot depths of her body. She took her hand back. “What do you call…what we did?” “I don’t know.” And he certainly couldn’t ask anyone. “After we marry, you will go inside my pussy.” After they were married, nothing would stop him. “Yes.” She sighed. “Will it feel…same?” She sounded a little disappointed. Or maybe he was the disappointed one. As much as he’d loved being deep inside her back hole, he wanted her pussy a thousand times more. Her pussy would be wetter, and softer, and more giving. And he would be able to thrust into her pussy with abandon. But not the first time—the first time, he’d be gentle. “No. It will feel better.” And it would. He’d enjoyed this, but it was still a substitute for what he really wanted. He wanted to fuck her. To ride her face-to-face—even though he wouldn’t see her face in the dark. To plant his seed in her womb, to have children.
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If she was strong enough to bear them.
***** She woke to the sounds of splashing water in a dimly lit room. She rolled over and saw John next to the stove, emptying a pail into the sink. “John? What do you do?” No, that wasn’t right. “What are you doing?” He looked up. The lamp was so low, she couldn’t see his face at all. But she could see he was naked. “Emptying the tub.” “You washed yourself?” “Yes.” The sky was pitch black outside the window. She must have slept for only an hour or so. When she sat up, a twinge in her bottom made her give a small cry of pain. She felt sore, and stretched, back there. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She could never explain why she was smarting. Not in any language. “Nothing.” “Your arms still hurt?” She wanted to say yes, just to avoid the embarrassment. But she’d asked for honesty from him. She wouldn’t repay him with a lie. “Not my arms, no.” He said nothing for a long moment. “Sorry,” he finally muttered. “I do not hurt bad,” she said. “I…I wanted.” And she still wanted him, even if she was too sore to take him in her backside right now. He made her feel so good, even when he hurt her a little. She’d loved feeling his big cock moving in her, loved hearing him grunt and groan, loved the way he held her so tightly against his broad, warm chest. Loved feeling like he wanted her, needed her. And when he came inside her, and made her come, too, she’d felt so very special. Like he couldn’t be thinking of any other woman. Like he couldn’t be thinking of her sister. He blew out the lamp and came to the bed. She felt the mattress dip as he settled next to her. When his hand wandered across her stomach, she tensed up a little. How could she tell him she was too sore to take his cock inside again? “Maybe…tomorrow…” she began. “Hush,” he said. He pulled her hip until she was lying on her back next to him. His mouth came down on hers, open and wet, and she arched up to press her lips against his more firmly. She loved the way he kissed, the way he sucked at her lips as though he wanted to take her into his own mouth, the way his tongue thrust inside and rasped against the inner flesh of her mouth. He smelled clean, like the store-bought soap, and he’d shaved his whiskers. When he pulled down the blanket, baring her bosom, she tried to pull it back up. Even though she loved his kisses, she wasn’t ready for more. “It won’t hurt,” he said. “I promise. It won’t hurt at all.” He’d given her no reason not to trust him. So she relaxed. He kissed her again, and his hand found her breasts, his rough hand that felt so unbearably gentle. He could bruise her with this big strong hand, but he handled her so carefully, his fingers rubbing across her nipple as if
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he wanted to memorize the feel of it. His kiss, his touch, had her tingling between her legs, making her squirm. Then his mouth opened over her breast, and he sucked her inside, deep inside. She moaned and clutched at his head. His thick, shaggy wet hair tangled around her fingers, but she didn’t care, she just had to make sure he stayed there, kept licking, and sucking, and—oh—he bit her nipple! A soft bite, just enough to let her feel the sharp edge of his teeth. His tongue lapped at her, soothing the tiny hurt. But she needed more, so much more. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, what?” His deep voice rumbled against her sensitive breast. “Touch,” she said, panting. “Touch me.” His hand stroked from her hip to her bosom. “Where?” Oh, would he make her wait forever? “You know.” “Say it,” he said. “Pussy.” “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I’ll touch your pussy.” His fingers were between her legs then, playing, stroking, rubbing, spreading her wetness all over, while his mouth sucked at her nipples. He moved lower and kissed her stomach. Wet heat filled her bellybutton—his tongue. And then he pulled away from her, pulled his head away from her hands, and moved all the way off the bed. He grabbed her thighs and dragged her down, down, until her knees bent, her feet were on the floor and her bottom was at the edge of the bed. She had a bare instant to wonder what he was doing before his head swooped between her legs, his mouth hot on her privates, licking, licking, licking, until her pussy buzzed with urgent need. Nothing existed but her panting breath, his slurping tongue, and the crisis building in her trembling body. His tongue went inside her, deep inside, wriggling. Oh, so good. But he took it out, and before she could draw breath to protest, a big hot finger was there, thrusting into her over and over again. And his mouth found a wondrous spot, the most sensitive spot, and suckled. She clutched at the blankets as she moaned, and gasped, and came hard, hard, against his sucking mouth. Before she’d caught her breath, before she even remembered where she was, he lifted her up onto the bed again and wrapped his arms around her, settling on his back with her front draped over him. Her head ended up on his chest. She rubbed her cheek against that thick pelt of hair and gasped for breath. “I told you,” he whispered, sounding as out of breath as she was. “I told you it wouldn’t hurt at all.”
***** She nuzzled her face against his chest, and he felt little puffs of warm air on his skin as she struggled to catch her breath. “Oh, John…John…” No woman had ever said his name that way. Breathy, and tender, and full of sensual satisfaction. He’d pleased her, all right. She wasn’t finished. “I never…that was…you…” 102
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He grinned and tightened his arm around her slender back. “Yes,” he said, as if her random words had made any sense. He pulled the tangled covers over her trembling body, unwilling to release her to straighten the blankets. One long, slim hand rested on his collarbone. She curved that hand around his neck and stroked his throat. “Can I touch you? Your cock?” What had he ever done to deserve such a generous, passionate woman? He took her hand, kissed her palm. “Yes.” Her hand wandered over his chest. “You can go inside me. If you wish.” Unbelievably generous. Even though he’d hurt her, even though she was still sore in her tender ass, she’d take him there again. “Just touch me,” he said. “Make me come with your hand.” Her hand roamed his chest again, down to his stomach. “You are…so much hair.” “Hairy. ” “Like a bear,” she said, rubbing her hand against his furry chest. Her hair tickled his stomach as she moved lower, lower. And then her hand brushed his cock, and he felt the wet warmth of her tongue, licking his shaft. His eyes rolled back, and he gripped the bed sheets to keep from grabbing her head and pushing her mouth against him. “Is good?” she asked. “Suck me,” he said. “What?” He groaned. How could she expect him to think at a time like this? “Take me in your mouth, and suck…oh, hell.” He couldn’t think clearly enough to explain it, not even in Italian. He reached down, grabbed one of her hands, and pulled her up so he could suck one of her fingers into his mouth. “Like this,” he said, sucking, releasing, sucking again. Hair tickled his chest again, a slim hand found his cock, and then he felt her mouth open over him, sucking him inside. Ah, heaven. She sucked lightly, too lightly, but her tongue moved against his cock like a rasp of velvet. He touched her hair, gently grasped her head, and showed her how to move, how to pull him into her mouth and out again. She sucked him eagerly, and the brush of her hair across his stomach teased him to a fever pitch. His brain shut down, his breath turned to harsh gasps, and deep groans left his throat. Before he could tell her to stop, to pull away, he came deep, deep inside the sucking heat of her mouth. He expected her to gag, to spit, to leap away from him. But she held him in her mouth, held him until the last wave of pleasure had passed. And when she released his cock, she gave his limp shaft a soft kiss before coming to lie beside him. “Was good?” she asked. She had to ask? “L’ultimo. Meraviglioso. Magnifico.” She laughed. God, he’d made her laugh. “In English?” “The best. Wonderful. Superb.” 103
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“Mmm,” she said. He’d take that for agreement. “Tomorrow,” she said, “you will spell these words. So I will learn—I’ll learn,” she corrected herself. She bent her lips to his ear. “I’ll learn what to say when next you make me come,” she whispered. He was so tired he couldn’t answer her. He just pulled her closer and sighed against the top of her head.
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CHAPTER SEVEN The chickens fluttered around the coop and clucked wildly, racing for the feed. Two of the birds flew over the heads of the rest, landing in the middle of the feed tray, showering seed over the ground. Mariana laughed. Silly chickens. This morning, anything could make her laugh. She’d woken before John, dressed in the dark, and slipped outside to gather the eggs and milk the cow. She stepped quietly onto the porch and opened the door carefully. John was still in bed, the covers pulled over his head. She set down the milk pail and egg basket softly so he wouldn’t wake. She put water on to boil for coffee, then sat at the table and threaded her needle. The dress was half done. She might even finish today, unless John kept her busy. She grinned. Oh, she hoped he kept her very busy. Maybe they’d spend the whole day together. They would talk, and laugh, and kiss. More than kiss. Maybe he’d take her to bed during the day. When he could see her. If he saw her face, her body, then he wouldn’t be able to think of anyone else. She stood up and added coffee to the boiling water. Noise from the bed drew her attention. John had thrown the blankets partway off and rolled onto his back, but hadn’t woken. He lay with his chest bare, his mouth open, breathing deeply. The wild, bushy hair on his head stood up in all directions, making her smile, but the sight of his naked chest made her smile fade. He had more hair on his broad chest than she’d imagined, a thick black pelt that grew in great whorls around his flat nipples and arrowed down his taut stomach in a wide swath, disappearing under the sheet. He looked so strong, masculine, utterly different from any man she’d ever seen. She remembered exactly how that solid, hairy chest felt against her naked back. How would it feel against her breasts, above her, when he lay on top of her to take her virginity? Her mouth went dry, and she had to lean against the sink. A bolder woman than she would join him in that bed, wake him with kisses. She would be bold, if she thought he really wanted her. He lusted after her body in the dark of night, but did he really want her, Mariana? Or was she just a poor, small-chested substitute for the woman he really wanted? She sighed and sat back down, taking the dress in her lap. It was too soon for him to forget Francesca. Only six months ago, he had shared that bed with Francesca. Done those wonderful things with Francesca. “Good morning.” His deep voice made her jump. She looked up and saw him pull his long johns up over his shoulders, then button them closed over his big hairy chest. “Good morning,” she said. “Coffee?” “Yes.”
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She stood and poured a mug, bringing it to him as he shrugged into his shirt. He took a sip and set the mug on the dresser. And she couldn’t resist. She leaned closer to him and brought her face up for a kiss. He stepped back, quickly, looking at her warily. He didn’t even want to kiss her. After everything they’d done in the night. Shocked, hurt, she turned and walked away. She went to the sink, and with shaking hands, cracked a half dozen eggs into a bowl. “I’m…not real sociable in the morning,” he said. He lied. His voice sounded careful, guarded, as if he was hiding the truth. She had enough younger brothers to recognize that tone. She could lie, too. She nodded without looking at him. “Is not a problem.” She set a skillet over a burner and started frying some sausage. “What will you do today?” she asked. “I have to go into town.” She looked at him then. “Again? The horse is more sick?” His pants were on, and he sat on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots. “The horse is better.” He started on his second boot. “But I…forgot some things.” Again he lied. She turned the sausage. In a minute, she could start the eggs. The sausage took much longer. “I’ll have to bring Kathleen’s horse back to her when I get home,” he said. “Probably won’t make it back here until supper.” So he would be gone all day, again. Well, she would find something to keep her busy. She’d finish the dress—her wedding dress—and maybe clean the cold storage cellar. “Very well,” she said. She slid the eggs into the hot pan, stirring them around the sizzling sausages. “The sausage smells good,” he said. “Yes.” “I’m thinking of getting some hogs,” he said. “Selling the extra meat to get a little cash. But I’m not sure I could turn a profit.” “Feeding hogs is…” She didn’t know the English word, and if she took the time to look it up, the sausage would burn. “Much money,” she improvised. “Expensive,” he said. “Yeah, it is.” He sighed. “I really want to grow some extra crops, but…” “No money?” she asked. He didn’t answer. When she glanced at him, he was staring at her oddly. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. Her father had always gotten angry when a woman talked to him about money. “Not enough land,” he said, before she could apologize. “I was going to buy a few acres from Kathleen, but…now I don’t have the money.” He didn’t seem angry that she’d mentioned money. Not at all. “Maybe you can…how do you say it?” She stirred the eggs, then set down the fork and rushed to get one of her
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dictionaries, hurrying back to the stove to keep an eye on the food. With one hand, she looked through the book. “Rent the land.” He shook his head. “I’ve thought about that. But if the crop goes bad, I’ll still have to pay the rent. I’d lose money. And if we had two bad seasons in a row…” “You could…” She hesitated. Did he really not mind getting ideas from a woman? “You could give Kathleen some money from…from the crops. When years are good, both make money. When years are bad, no money. You give a…part?” “A percentage.” She lifted the skillet to the table, and he sat down. She brought him a plate and a fork, and served him from the pan. Today, he would eat off of a plate. She sat across from him and served herself. “A percentage,” he repeated, digging into his food. “That’s a good idea.” Never, in the whole of her life, had a man told her she had a good idea. That she was beautiful, yes. That she was funny. That she was good with a needle. But never had she been…smart. Francesca had been lucky to have a man like this. A man who would listen to a woman. A man who would share his decisions with her. A man who would please her in bed. She knew, from listening to married women, that many men cared only for their own pleasure. He’d given her so much pleasure. How much better would it be, to have him take her fully? To have that big, hairy chest on top of hers? To have his cock moving in her pussy? She set her fork down and took a gulp of water. If what he’d given her so far was only the beginning, she was a fool to wait for Valentine’s Day.
***** John got home less than an hour past sunset, trudging through bitter wind the whole way from Kathleen’s place, thinking of nothing but Mariana. He’d thought of little else all day. Seeing her flit around the kitchen that morning, fixing him breakfast, talking with him—it seemed right, somehow. Like she belonged there. With him. And when she’d mentioned money, the thought had struck him, like a bolt from the blue, that he wouldn’t send her back for all the lire in Italy. It made no sense. No sense at all. But somehow she’d wormed her way into his life, into his bed. Just remembering how her warm body felt next to his was enough to bring him to a full cockstand. Yes, she was skinny. Too skinny to suit him. His cock didn’t seem to care. She’d wanted to kiss him that morning. She’d actually wanted to kiss him in the light of day. And he’d been so shocked, so surprised, he’d jumped like a scared rabbit. Not tonight. Tonight, maybe…maybe he’d see if she still wanted to kiss him in the light. He dropped the bundle he carried in an empty stall in the barn, where she wasn’t likely to find it. Then he strode onto the porch and through the door. She sat at the table, sewing that dark dress of her sister’s. He gave her a brief nod and took off his coat. “Your hair,” she said. “It’s…”
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“Shorter.” He ran a hand through it self-consciously. “I figured I should get a decent haircut before we get married.” She pushed her chair back. “Do you want food? Supper?” She looked so open, so eager to please him. He wanted nothing more than to please her in return. With the lamp blazing away, shining off that silky blonde hair. “Later.” For once she said nothing. She just leaned forward to blow out the lamp. Damn it. But then she came to him in the darkness, came straight into his arms, and reached up to kiss him. He didn’t have the nerve to re-light the lamp, didn’t want to know if she could stand to see him. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was this, her lips soft on his, her body warm against him, her hands running through his hair. He pulled at her clothes as they kissed, and she pulled at his, dragging off his shirt, his pants, his long johns. His arms tangled with hers as he yanked off her threadbare dress, her shift and drawers. She leaned on him as she kicked off her shoes. He bent to kiss her neck, biting gently, and she pressed her firm little breasts against his chest. Hungry. As hungry as he was. “I missed you,” she said. Missed him? Or missed this, the passion she felt, the pleasure he gave her? Hell, he didn’t care. He was here, she was naked in his arms, and all he wanted to do was revel in her thin, sweet-smelling body. He pulled her to the bed, pushed her down, and knelt over her to suckle at her breasts. His greedy hand couldn’t wait, reaching between her thighs, feeling her slippery cunt, her wet slit. She moaned, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and wriggled her hips. He slowed the rhythm of his fingers to a teasing touch. She whimpered. “What?” he asked, wanting to hear her beg. Wanting to hear her admit she needed him. “What do you need?” “More,” she whispered. “Fast.” He stroked over her clit, and she gasped. “I like your hand,” she said. His vanity grew. His vanity, and his cock. “Good.” “I like your mouth, too.” He smothered a chuckle. By the saints, she was a demanding little piece. But he was more than happy to oblige. He knelt between her legs and stroked his fingers through her thick bush, parting the wiry hair, combing a path to her inner flesh. His hands slid under her ass, holding her still as he bent his head. His tongue separated her thick folds, licking, tasting her tangy juice, toying with her clit. She whimpered, a frustrated little plea, and he kissed her pussy hard, sucked her little bud between his lips and mouthed it, the way he’d learned she liked it just last night. Her thighs tightened against his head as she came, so quickly, with little jerks of her hips, jogging her splendid ass on his palms. After she was still, he moved up the bed, wiping his mouth on the sheet, and lay beside her. Maybe she’d return the favor, take him in her hot little mouth. Maybe he’d flat out ask her to. She sure hadn’t been shy about asking him for what she needed. “John…I want…” Her voice faded away. 108
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She could have read his mind. “What? What do you want?” Whatever it was, he’d do it. Gladly. “Your cock,” she said. “In my pussy.” His breath caught. Could she really mean it? “What about Valentine’s Day?” “You will marry me on St. Valentine’s Day, yes? Even if I’m not…virgin?” Had that been her concern all along? Her only reason for making him wait? “Of course I will.” “Then no wait,” she said. “Now.” He wouldn’t ask her again, wouldn’t give her another chance to change her mind. But he could at least give her part of her silly romantic dream. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers. “I take you as my lawful wedded wife,” he said. “To have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Till death do us part.” “To love and to cherish,” she added, in Italian. He knew he’d forgotten something. But he didn’t repeat it. Love? That was one vow he couldn’t keep. He fumbled blindly for the dresser next to the bed, opened the top drawer, and found the small box he’d buried there six months ago. He opened it and pulled out Francesca’s wedding band. It slipped easily onto Mariana’s skinny finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” She kissed him before he had a chance to kiss her first, her hands on either side of his face. “Thank you,” she said at last. He rolled on top of her, nudging her legs apart with his knees. She willingly spread her thighs, making a cradle for his hips. He braced most of his weight on his forearms, his hands cupping her head. “With my body, I thee worship,” he said, his voice thick with need. He found her lips with his, and kissed her gently. Her mouth trembled. Or maybe it was his. He rubbed his cock against her thigh, letting her get used to having him on top of her. She felt so tiny beneath him. Tiny, and vulnerable. And he’d nearly forgotten to make it easier for her. Selfish beast. His head jerked back. No. No, he wouldn’t hear the ghost of Francesca tonight. Tonight Mariana was all that mattered. Generous, skinny little Mariana, who’d willingly given him every part of her body. He lifted his hips to one side and reached between her legs, pressing two fingers deep inside her. She clamped down on them so hard, he almost pulled them out and thrust his cock into her right then. But no, he’d wait. Just a few seconds more, a few seconds to get her ready for his cock. He spread his fingers wide, inside her, stretching them as far apart as he could. Stretching her open so she could take his cock. Little gasping breaths came into his ear. She would never be any wetter than this. She would never be more ready.
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He pulled his hand away and settled his hips over hers again. His cock found home, sliding through her wet folds, the tip nudging her virgin opening. He’d be inside her with one thrust. One quick thrust. One quick, selfish thrust that could make her despise him. Forever. Oh, God. What if he hurt her? Hurt her unforgivably? “John.” She might hate him when he was done. Hate him, barely speak to him, skitter away whenever he was close enough to touch her… She stroked the hair on the back of his head. “Giovanni.” His name, his real name. She’d been speaking to him. “What?” Her breath felt hot against his neck. “Just go in. Go in fast. The wait is far more terrifying to me.” She spoke in Italian, her voice soft and calm. “Women have been surviving this since the beginning of time. I will survive, too.” Of course she would survive. But he might kill any chance they had for a warm, caring marriage. Still, it must be done. And whether it was done tonight or on Valentine’s Day, the result would be the same. His greedy cock ruled his head. He could wait no longer to breach her. “Forgive me,” he breathed. Then he pushed inside her, all at once, breaking through the fragile barrier and plowing forward until the whole of his cock was buried deep inside her. She felt like heaven—warm and wet, soft and welcoming. He stopped, fully lodged, panting. Her fingers were clutching at his biceps, her nails stinging. A tiny, insignificant pain compared to what she must feel. He felt such pleasure, such anxiety, all confused together, that he couldn’t seem to think, let alone speak. “Hurt?” he asked. “Hurt bad?” “No bad,” she said. “Not bad.” God, her voice sounded like a whimper. He couldn’t do this. He’d taken her virginity, but he didn’t have to hurt her anymore. He’d use her hand, his own hand, to ease himself tonight. In a few days, she’d be healed, and then he wouldn’t hurt her at all. He’d wait a few days more to fuck her the way he longed to. He pulled back, slowly, slowly withdrawing from the warm depths of her cunt. “I’ll stop.” Her fingers tightened on his arms. “No.” She thrust her hips up, and his body resisted the wishes of his brain, sinking back into her. He groaned. “Let me stop. I’m hurting you.” “No. No stop.” She bit his neck, gently, a sharp nip that made him press his hips down, drove his cock just a little deeper. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, and felt no wetness. At least she wasn’t crying. But he knew she was in pain. He could feel her shuddering breath against his ear. “John, please. Give me…give me your seed.” She licked his earlobe, then thrust her pointed tongue into his ear. “You come inside my pussy,” she whispered. He nearly came just from hearing the filthy words whispered in his wet ear, whispered in her soft voice.
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She lifted her hips against his again, nudging his cock deeper, and he was lost. He pulled back and thrust. And thrust again. Over and over again, hard and deep, mindless, grunting and swearing, oh God, God damn it, God help me, and suddenly he came with a great wrenching burst and one final, tremendous thrust that moved her hips up the bed nearly a foot. He held still, deep against her womb, shaking and spasming and shooting his seed, while a thundering roar echoed away. His own cry? And finally, spent and sweating, he collapsed on top of her like a felled oak. Damn it. God damn it. He’d sworn to be gentle with her. And instead he’d taken her like the worst sort of savage. He stirred and shifted some of his weight to his forearms, ready to withdraw, to move away, ready for her to sob hysterically and berate him and slap him until his face stung. Instead he felt slender arms slip around his back and hold him close. Her hands pressed down, keeping him inside her. “Was good?” she asked. He’d hurt her, caring for nothing but his own pleasure, and her only concern was that he enjoyed himself? His throat closed around a painful lump that felt the size of an apple. He could do nothing but nod, with his cheek pressed against hers. She sighed beneath him. “Good.” “Next time—” His voice croaked. He had to clear his throat. “Next time, you will feel good, too.” “Yes.” She didn’t sound sure of that. He’d work hard to please her next time. She’d never be disappointed in his bed. He should have added that to the impulsive marriage vows he’d made. The brush of her fingers on his cheek startled him. She smoothed them lightly over his forehead, his eyebrows, down his nose. “What are you doing?” he asked. “I am wishing to see you.” He felt frozen, like a deer startled by a hunter. His cock was limp inside her, he’d just taken her virginity with no thought to her comfort, and she wanted to see his face. A face she damn well knew was uglier than sin. And if she wanted to see him so damned much, she wouldn’t have blown out the light the minute he’d come home. He reached up and took that curious hand in his, moved it to the safer territory of his shoulder. “You know what I look like. You don’t need to see.” “Yes, but…are you happy? You smile?” No, he suddenly felt like crying. But he could never admit such a thing. “The way you speak half in English and half in Italian makes me smile,” he answered. “Smile…sorridere.” He touched one corner of her mouth with his forefinger, and found her lips curved upward. “You make me smile,” she confirmed, using the English word he’d just taught her. “I’m glad you are…I’m glad you’re my husband now.” And I’m glad you’re my wife. His throat went tight again, closing off the words. Why couldn’t he say it? It wasn’t a lie. But to acknowledge such a thing openly gave her too much power. The power to hurt him.
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He pulled away and settled next to her. She came into his arms as if they’d lain together a thousand times, pillowing her head on his shoulder. Could she truly be content in his arms? Generous and trusting, brave and passionate…and pretty, in her own skinny way. So very pretty. He knew it even in the dark of night, when he couldn’t see her at all. Her father could have had a king’s ransom for this woman. Her head stirred, shifting so she could speak. “Do you think we…planted a baby?” After one time? Not likely. “Babies come when they come.” “But you would be happy?” He could never tell her how much having children, a family, would mean to him. Better to let her think he was nothing but practical about it. “Sons could help me in the fields.” “All men wish for sons.” She sounded a bit wistful. Had she been anything more to her own father than a mouth to feed? A body to sell? He would do better by their own daughters. “If we should have a daughter, I will never give her to a man who cares nothing for her.” She didn’t answer. Suddenly he felt dampness on his skin, and her head left his shoulder. Now she cried, after the pain was over. He should have known he wouldn’t be spared the tears. “I’m sorry it hurt,” he said. “It won’t hurt next time.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Not hurt bad.” He could hear miserable tears in her voice. Should he hold her? Or leave her alone? She rolled over, away from him, making the decision for him. At least she didn’t sob. She made no noise at all, lying still as a grave. But he knew she cried. He knew it. And he lay there, clenching his fists, grinding his teeth. Trying to keep his own eyes from filling.
***** If only the mirror were bigger. Mariana couldn’t see much below her shoulders in this tiny mirror, not even after she took it off the wall. She leaned the glass against a pillow on the bed and surveyed herself critically. The dress was a bit loose across her shoulders, but at least the fabric curved neatly around her bosom, with a little room to spare. Between the fever on the boat and her incarceration at Ellis Island, she’d lost some weight. When she gained it back, she wanted this dress to fit. Her wedding dress. She’d barely finished it in time—just this morning, the day before Valentine’s Day. It fit better than any of the worn dresses she’d brought with her from Italy, so she may as well wear it today. And every day, until she had another altered. She looked through Francesca’s chest again. A shift would be easy to alter, and practical. Hers were about to fall apart. She lifted one out of the chest and brought it to the table, then got one of her worn shifts out of her own cloth sack. The old shift would help her keep the measurements straight. She took the scissors from the sewing box and started picking apart the seams of Francesca’s shift. Like the dresses, her under things were in good shape. John must have bought all these clothes for her, brand new. John. When she’d woken up he’d been gone, leaving only some scattered breadcrumbs on the table to show that he’d eaten something for breakfast. She’d gathered the eggs, milked the 112
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cow, and fed the chickens, but there’d been no sign of him outside. The horse was stabled in the barn. He must be off in the fields somewhere. The scissors slipped, and she nicked her finger with the sharp point. She sucked it into her mouth to keep from getting blood on the shift. At least hurting her finger gave her an excuse to have tears well up in her eyes. She wiped them away with her free hand. How silly could she be? Of course he didn’t care for her—not yet. Francesca had been gone for only six months. And her mother always said that men took longer than women to sort out their feelings. But even knowing how silly she was, expecting him to care for her so soon, she’d cried to hear him say, so bluntly, that he didn’t care for her at all. That he wouldn’t let their daughter end up like her, with a man who cares nothing for her. So be it. He was still her husband—or he would be in the morning. And he wasn’t a bad man. Surely they could have a good marriage. Even if he didn’t care for her, he enjoyed her body. But only in the dark of night. Enough. She’d been cooped up inside for so long, she was feeling nothing but pity for herself. A walk would make her feel better, even though it was cold outside. Maybe she’d see John. She put the clothes and sewing box back in Francesca’s chest—her chest now—and put on her coat and bonnet. The wind hit her in the face as soon as she opened the door. Cold wind, but not freezing. She could barely see her breath. The snow was slowly melting, fading away in wet, muddy patches. The narrow track that led to the road was muddy, so she walked to the side, where dried grass kept the worst of the mud from caking on her thin boots. She’d need new boots next winter. Would John be angry to spend the money? Maybe she could find a way to make extra money. Taking in sewing, perhaps? She would ask John if he thought anyone would pay for that. Noise came from the west end of the road—a horse and creaking wood. John? No, she’d seen the horse in the barn earlier. Wherever he’d gone, he was on foot. The horse approached, pulling a narrow wagon. Ah, Kathleen was driving. Mariana smiled at her, but the woman’s expression looked taut. Anxious. Kathleen pulled back on the reins, and the wagon came to a stop. “I’m heading to town to fetch the doctor,” she said, without any greeting. “The boys are powerful sick.” “Can I help?” “Aren’t you a dear for asking. If you have the time, could you sit with them until I get back? They were sleeping when I left, but I’d feel easier knowing someone was there.” “Of course. I’ll go now,” she said. “Where…where is…” Oh, speaking English was so hard at times. “Where’s my house?” “Yes.” “Follow the road three miles,” Kathleen said. “My place is off to the left, right after a stand of willow trees. There’s a sign with my name on it at the edge of the road. You can’t miss it.”
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Mariana nodded, and turned to go back to the house. She heard the reins snap and the wagon trundle down the road. “Thank you,” Kathleen called. Mariana turned to wave, but Kathleen had already moved along. She rushed into the house and grabbed her dictionaries, stuffing them into her worn cloth bag. What else would she need? Oh, she could bring the shifts. If Kathleen’s sons were sleeping, Mariana could get some sewing done. As she hurried to the door, her gaze fell on the chalkboard. Maybe she should leave a message for John. No. No, he hadn’t told her where he was going, or when he would be back. Why should she do him that favor? Let him wonder. If he cared at all.
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CHAPTER EIGHT Mariana trudged up the lane toward the house, breathing hard in the crisp night air. The sun had set hours ago. Surely John would be home by now. Maybe he had even wondered where she was. She opened the door quietly. He was sitting at the table, and he looked up. He seemed surprised to see her. Odd. The room was chilly, so she left her coat on and sat down on the bed. He said nothing, so she said nothing. “Where were you?” he asked at last. His voice was harsh. As if he expected her to sit at home waiting for him whenever he decided to disappear for an entire day. “You are out all day, too.” His brows lowered in a forbidding scowl. “I was home before dark. Now give me an answer. Where were you?” She wanted to ask where he had been. But he looked so angry, she didn’t dare. Maybe he’d be happy that she’d done something useful. “I go to Kathleen’s home.” He glowered. “Why?” He sounded suspicious. Mad. Why would he be angry that she went to Kathleen’s? “Her sons are sick. She went for doctor. I watch her sons. I watched her sons,” she corrected. “Sick?” She nodded. “Sick with what?” Why couldn’t she remember the word? She rolled her hand in small circles, thinking. “Hot,” she said at last. “Very hot.” “A fever?” That was the word. She nodded. “Yes, a fever. Bad fever. Kathleen is afraid. The doctor—” He got to his feet so quickly, his chair fell over behind him with a crash. “You knew the boys had a fever? And still you went?” She helped a neighbor, and he would yell at her for it? “Kathleen is nice woman. Of course I went.” He came to the bed and glared down at her, his face dark and scarier than ever. “You little fool.” She shrank back from him, but he leaned closer. “Are you trying to kill yourself on purpose? Is living with me so horrible that you’d rather die?” Why was he saying these things? Why was he yelling at her? She swallowed and shook her head. He put one hand on either side of her head, leaning so close, she could barely focus on his eyes. “Did you ever stop to think what would happen if you died? Maybe your parents would
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send your little sister to be my next wife. She’s what, all of thirteen years old? Would you like her to go through Ellis Island alone?” He was so close, and so angry, she could say nothing. She just lay there trembling. He took a breath…to yell again. “Your greedy father probably doesn’t give a damn about her, either. He’d send her to me in a minute. Or maybe he’d finally blow the dust off his God damned wallet and send me my money back.” She lay in shock, eyes smarting with hot tears, and stared at him. She didn’t understand every word he said. But she understood enough. “You want the money,” she whispered. “Only the money. That’s why you are so angry, first day I…first day I’m here.” He straightened and turned away from her. As if he couldn’t stand to look at her. His hands were clenched into fists. “Of course I wanted the money. Do you think I wanted another wife? A wife so stupid that she’d go out and try to catch a fever?” Enough. She’d heard more than enough. She brushed her tears away and stood up. He still couldn’t bear to look at her. She grabbed her old dresses from Francesca’s chest and stuffed them into her bag, then pulled the drawstring tight. Everything she owned was in her bag again. Just like when she’d arrived. She wouldn’t spend another night with this awful man, this man who called her names, this man she could never please. This man who cared nothing for her. Who didn’t want her. She left without even looking at him again.
***** The slam of the door sounded like a gunshot, cutting across the quiet of the night with a sharp burst and then fading away, taking John’s anger with it. Now that she’d left, he felt calm. Strangely calm. He wouldn’t miss her. Not at all. Oh, he’d miss having her in his bed. But he’d never really wanted her for anything else. She’d probably head to the McNeil’s place. Kathleen would see her settled. If she got sick, if she came down with whatever the boys had, Kathleen would take care of her. No need to worry about her. He went to the window and saw her walking away in the light of the full moon. And suddenly he was five years old, standing at another, more grimy window, watching his mother walk away. Wondering when she’d come back for him. She never had. And Mariana would never come back if he let her walk away from him now. Best to let her go. She’d find another man. A better man. A man she cared for. He’d never wanted her, and she’d never wanted him. How could she? An ugly brute of a man, who’d done nothing but hurt her, yell at her. Bed her. Love her. As best he could. By the saints, he loved her. And she was leaving him. Already he could barely see her in the moonlight.
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Panic seized him. He ran out the door, gasping in the cold air, and chased after her. He stumbled in the dark, nearly falling on his face. She looked over her shoulder, saw him, and kept going. A better man, the man she deserved, would let her go. He caught up with her at the edge of the road and grabbed her arm. Gulping for breath, shivering without his coat, he pulled her around to face him. She wouldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry.” She tried to pull away. “No.” He clutched both of her arms. They felt so thin under his beefy hands. So vulnerable. How could he have yelled at her? “I know I’m just a stupid oaf of a man. But I’m sorry.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “Yes. You are stupid oaf. Now I go.” As long as he held her arms, she couldn’t leave. And he wouldn’t let go until he convinced her to stay. But why should she? He couldn’t think of one single reason. “Stay. You must stay.” She tried to shake off his hands. “Why can you yell at me, call me stupid, and then say me stay?” God. Had he really said that? “You’re not stupid. I’m the stupid one.” “Yes,” she agreed, with heat. “Stupid…oaf.” She tried to pull away again. He gripped her arms. “You can’t leave me. You’re my wife, damn it. I said wedding vows to you before God.” Her hands clutched at his forearms, trying to pull him away. “Let me go. Those vows are…not real.” “They’re damned real vows to me.” Ah hell, he hadn’t meant to shout at her. “Stop, John.” Her eyes were teary. At least she felt something for him. “Why do you fight now? Let me go.” “I can’t,” he said, helplessly. “You want money. You don’t want me.” “Don’t want you?” Did she really believe that? Hell, what else did he expect her to believe? He’d shouted it in her face not five minutes ago. He’d never find the words to explain how much he wanted her, needed her. He pulled her slender body close. How had he ever thought her too skinny? Her slim, delicate figure was irresistible. Perfect. Perfectly designed to set his blood on fire. And oh, he burned. He wrapped his arms around her back, desperately, and rubbed his burgeoning cock against her stomach. “Please,” he said against her neck. “I’m sorry. Please. Let me…” He groaned, and kissed her neck. She was pliant in his arms. Willing? His mouth nuzzled the edge of her bonnet up, exposing her little ear. “I want you,” he whispered. “So much…want you so much…” He kissed her, and her lips answered. She didn’t fight him at all. He cupped her cheek, kissing her deeply, dragging her up against his body with his other arm. “I want, too,” she murmured against his mouth. She was his, only his, and he would never let her go. He lifted her in his arms, his skinny, beautiful, perfect wife, and headed back into the house. With one foot, he kicked the door shut.
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When he set her on her feet, she looked up at him with those huge blue eyes. Huge blue frightened eyes. “Are you sore?” he asked. “From last night?” “Sore?” “Do you hurt? In your pussy?” She blushed. “Not so much.” Thank God. His hand trembled as he untied her bonnet and let it drop behind her. He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “I can be gentle.” He prayed he could. “Let me show you.” She nodded, and tilted her face up. With the lamp shining bright, he could see every detail—the little freckle on her forehead, the downy fuzz on her cheeks, the yearning in her eyes. Yearning. She was so close, she had to see his own face clearly. And still she wanted him. He closed his eyes and kissed her. Gently, gently. No need to rush. But she pressed against him, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, and suddenly his tongue was deep within her mouth, dueling with hers, and his hands were pulling at her coat, her dress, her shift. God, he’d nearly lost her. He couldn’t go slowly. He needed her too much. When her bosom was bare, he bent his knees and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the floor to bring her breasts level with his mouth. He suckled, and she moaned, and his hands clutched her ass. He laid her on the bed in a tangle of clothes, her dress and shift pulled open to bare her breasts, her skirts rucked up to her knees. Her nipples glistened with wetness from his mouth. Ah, what a vision. His woman, his wife, half naked and waiting for him. She gazed at him with a hunger he’d never before seen in a woman’s eyes. Hunger for him. He stood and stripped off his shirt. Before it hit the floor, she was struggling out of her own clothes. She finished before him, and he stopped to drink in the sight of her naked body. She was kneeling on the bed, facing him, and her slender waist, her thin legs, made the generous flare of her hips all the more stunning. And her pussy hair, oh, her pussy hair was a tawny light brown, exactly as he’d imagined. While he stared, she lifted her hands and stroked over her breasts, making heat rush to his cock. Her gaze moved down his body, and her eyes widened. Ah, she’d never seen him before, either. “Oh,” she whispered. “I never…oh.” Her tongue came out and licked her lips. His cock lifted, as though that tongue had touched it. A blush spread from her face all the way down to her breasts. The breasts her hands fondled. He had to touch her. Right now. He started for the bed, and the tangle of pants around his ankles tripped him. But he fell next to her on the soft mattress, and kicked off his pants and long johns impatiently, his gaze never leaving her. She didn’t shy away from looking at his face. She looked eager, and wanton, kneeling there tweaking those big wet nipples. He couldn’t wait another minute. He swung around, lifted her hips, and slid his head under her kneeling body, lying on his back with his head between her thighs. In an instant, his mouth reached up to taste her juicy cunt. His tongue licked, thrust inside her, flicked against her clit, and she moaned, cried out, shunted her hips over his face.
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She fell forward over him, onto her hands and knees. His thighs shivered from the brush of her hair. Her hand stroked his cock, and then the wet heat of her mouth sucked him in. She mimicked the motions of fucking, and he thrust his tongue deep into her cunt, matching her strokes. She sucked. He moaned. He licked. She whimpered. The vibrations from her wordless little noises of need tingled on his cock, made him shudder. He cupped her ass in his hands, molding her cheeks, holding her still over his mouth. He ate her fiercely, starving for her, forcing his pleasure on her. And her eager mouth did the same to him. Suddenly she moved away, and sat next to him, breathing hard. “Inside me,” she said. “What is the word for when you go inside me?” If she said it, he might come before he even got inside her. “It’s called fucking.” “How do I ask for this?” He swallowed. “You’d say, fuck me.” “Fuck me,” she repeated. And then she reached out a hand to him. He took her hand, but when she pulled him toward her, he resisted. He’d pound into her savagely if he got on top of her again. She was still sore, tender. And this time, by the cross, he’d be gentle with her. He tugged her over to him instead, and pulled her down until she sprawled on top of his own body. She put one hand on his chest, pushed herself up, and gazed down at him. Her beautiful face looked confused. “No?” “Like this,” he said, lifting his knees so that her legs spread open on either side of him. “Take me inside. Take as much as you want. As slow as you want. Stop whenever you want.” She nodded and shifted her hips, rubbing his cock with the wet heat of her pussy, tormenting him. Finally he felt her hand grip his cock, holding it still while she sank down on him. She cried out. He reached up and pushed the sweep of her hair behind one ear. “Does it hurt?” “No,” she said. “Feels good.” So good. Her hips shifted a little, taking him deeper. Then she lifted up, until his cock almost slid out, and sank back down in a long, slow glide. So good. Torture. She kept her gaze locked on his as she moved, writhing on him slowly…slowly... God, she'd drive him insane at this pace. Her hands pressed against his chest, pushing as she thrust. He gripped her ass, helping her move. He held back, clenching his teeth, but the sight of her riding him, fucking him, the sight of her looking down at him with such passion on her face, drove him to the edge. She ground herself against him with each downward thrust, and he gave up his hold on her luscious ass to slip one hand between them, to nudge against her clit with his thumb. Her
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eyes closed then, her teeth bit down on her lower lip, and he let go, let himself thrust up into her, and she convulsed around his cock just an instant before he exploded inside her. Her slender body collapsed onto his, and he held her close, feeling her chest rise and fall as she struggled for breath. “You looked to me,” she said. “Yes, I looked at you.” And she’d looked at him. Unbelievable. “Before…in dark…I think you don’t want to look at me.” So while he’d been hiding in the dark, she’d been thinking he didn’t want to see her. “I like looking at you. A lot.” She planted her hands on his chest and lifted herself up to look into his face. Her expression was troubled. “Before this. Before bed. Why are…why were you angry at me?” He didn’t look away, hard as it was to expose himself. She deserved an explanation for putting up with so much from him. “When I came home today, and you weren’t here…I thought you’d left me.” He’d hurt her last night, driven her to tears, and then he’d come home to an empty house, seen that her drawstring bag was gone… She looked confused. “But I came home after. So you knew…I not left.” He swallowed. “Yes, but then you told me that you went to Kathleen’s, even though you knew the boys were sick. You risked catching a fever. And I…I just went crazy. Crazy with worry.” “Worry?” “Fear. I was afraid.” His arms tightened around her hips. “Your sister died of a fever. The thought of you dying…” His throat closed, and he forced a deep breath into his chest. Forced himself to speak. “If anything happened to you, Mariana, I wouldn’t be able to go on.” She cocked her head to the side, her expression disbelieving. “You would go on. You went on after Francesca died.” How could she even compare the two? Losing Mariana would rip him to pieces. “The way I feel about you is nothing like the way I felt about Francesca.” She put her fingers against his lips. “I know. You no need say it.” She knew? How could she know, when he barely knew it himself? She lifted off of him then, before he could stop her, and lay next to him on her side. He pulled the covers over them both and rolled to face her. Her hand came up to stroke his cheek. Her expression never showed revulsion when she looked at him. Never. “It doesn’t bother you? My face?” She traced the line of his scar with one finger, tickling him. “It bothers me only that you were hurt.” She meant his scar, not the rest of him. “How does it happen?” she asked. “How did it happen.” Francesca had never cared to ask. She’d just avoided looking at him. “A knife fight when I was twelve or so. Nothing important.” She ran her fingers over the scar again, then laid her hand on his chest. She said nothing. He looked deep into her eyes. God, she was beautiful. How could she stand to look at him? “It’s not only the scar that’s ugly. I know it.”
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She shrugged a little, and gave a small smile. “You may not be the most handsome man in the world, Giovanni,” she said in Italian, “but you are my man.” Her expression held such possessiveness, such affection, that embarrassing moisture formed in his eyes. He closed them, hiding from her. He felt her hand leave his chest. “John, don’t be sad. I know you miss Francesca, but she would want you be happy.” Surprise dried his eyes. “You think I miss Francesca?” “I…yes.” She looked sad, so sad. “You don’t want me to be wife, in her place. You don’t want to look at me in the bed, when is her you want. I understand.” How could she ever think he preferred her sister? “I want you. Only you.” She managed to smile and still look sad. “You don’t need lie to make me feel good.” Stubborn, pigheaded girl. “I don’t want Francesca,” he said bluntly. “I don’t miss Francesca. And wherever she may be, she doesn’t miss me. She hated me.” She frowned. “Why?” He couldn’t confess while looking into her trusting face. He turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I didn’t treat your sister well,” he said at last. “I had only been with—” No, he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t tell her that the women he’d been with, whores one and all, would let a man bounce up and down on them and profess great enjoyment. “I had no experience with decent women. I…I hurt her.” And then he’d gone to another whore, and paid her to teach him how to please a woman. But it had been too late. Francesca had never let him near her again. Mariana put her hand on his shoulder. “I forgive you.” He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss, then held it against his chest. “Your sister never did.” Her fingers tightened on his. “I’m sorry for you, and for her. But I forgive you.” He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. “I don’t deserve you, Mariana. But I’m too selfish to let you go.” She smiled wide. “Is not a problem. I like my selfish man.” Like? Hell, it was a start. He caught sight of her discarded dress, lying on the bed next to her. The dress that had once been Francesca’s. That reminded him. “I have a surprise for you.” He slid out of bed and found his tangled long johns on the floor. “What is it?” He buttoned up his long johns, tossed on his coat, and pulled on his boots, leaving them unlaced. “Stay here.” He went to the barn, found the package he’d hidden there yesterday, and brought it inside. She was sitting up in bed with her shift on, and the fire crackled in the stove. She must have built it up. He pulled off his coat, kicked off his boots, and sat next to the package on the bed. He kept his gaze on her face as he untied the string and pulled the paper apart. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped. “What is it?”
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He pulled out the swath of blue fabric that was on top. With a flourish, he draped it over her shoulders. Yes, it matched her eyes nicely. He’d hoped it would. “I think it’s your wedding dress.” She gasped again and held the dress out. “But…how?” “When I went to town yesterday, I stopped by the seamstress’s. Told her I needed a wedding dress by Valentine’s Day, and she was happy to oblige.” And she’d charged him a small fortune, even though she’d had a dress ready-made, close to Mariana’s size. But this happy look on her face made it worth it. She smoothed the dress against her front. “So beautiful,” she murmured. Yes, she was. So beautiful that looking at her made his chest ache. He held out the next garment. His favorite. “More?” She took it, and held it up over the dress. The white nightgown was close to his fantasy one, with a low neckline, small buttons, and a lacy ruffle at the bottom. Tiny red hearts were embroidered around the neck and cuffs. She’d look like a little virginal bride in it for sure. A little virginal bride who whispered filthy words in his ear. He could hardly wait. She reached out and drew the rest of the fabric toward her, looking at the yards of blue and yellow and white. He’d had no idea what colors she’d want. “I could only get one ready-made dress,” he said. “The fabric’s for you…to make some yourself.” Her eyes looked up at him, still round with wonder. “All this? For me?” He nodded. “But you said, no money for clothes.” What a fool he’d been. “They’re a gift. A Valentine’s Day gift.” She touched the blue dress with one finger, as if she didn’t believe it was there. “I never have any clothes new. Never.” She scooted closer to him, and gave him a hug. “Thank you. Thank you, John.” Such a little thing to make her so happy. He cupped her chin in his hand. “You deserve a new dress for our wedding. You deserve clothes made of silk, and a better house than this oneroom shack, and…so much more than I can give you.” She shook her head, smiling, and he was lost. Words tumbled from his mouth. “I’m sorry about earlier. About yelling at you. I swear I’ll try to be…to make you… Ah, hell, I can’t think straight anymore. And it’s you, it’s your fault. Mariana, I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you.” She just stared at him, faintly puzzled. God, she hadn’t understood him. He hadn’t even meant to say it. And now he’d have to say it again. He pulled her tight, and hid his face against her neck. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, his stomach clenched. “Ti amo,” he muttered. She went still. “What?” He’d never repeat it. Saying it once had made his gut turn over. “You heard me,” he said. She moved back, enough to look into his face, and gave him an impossibly beautiful smile. And then she laughed. She laughed at him. God, he was a fool. He pulled away, or tried to. She held his arms tight. “Oh, John. You look so sick.”
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No wonder, considering the riot in his stomach. Her laughter stilled, and she lifted a hand to cup his cheek. His scarred cheek. “Anch’io ti amo,” she said, her voice soft and sure. He couldn’t breathe. “Truly?” “You heard me,” she replied, trying for a surly tone and sounding thoroughly adorable. They laughed. Together. “I love you, too,” he said. This time his stomach didn’t hurt at all. Her eyes were teary, and she couldn’t seem to stop stroking his cheek. “But how? No, I mean…why?” He shook his head vaguely. “I don’t know. I only know that I felt…dead inside. Then you came, and made me feel—” “Angry?” He smiled. “Not just angry. Alive. You gave me…yourself. So generously.” He brushed her hair back so he could see her eyes clearly. “And…you look at me, and you don’t see the man I am. You see a better man. The man I want to be, for you.” “I see the man you are,” she said. “A good man. A good man you are.” No, he wasn’t. “You are,” she insisted, as if he’d spoken. “You look at me, and you don’t see a silly, pretty girl. You make me feel…like woman. And when I have ideas, you listen. You let me talk.” He smiled. “It would be difficult to stop you from talking.” She smiled with him. “Is true.” “But you’re wrong about one thing,” he said. “When I look at you, I see a very pretty woman.” A beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. He felt too awkward to say it. “Thank you.” He touched the delicate nightgown that rested in her lap. “Why don’t you put this on, pretty woman?” “Why? I can see, it will fit.” He grinned. “If you put it on, I can take it off you.” She blushed and swatted his hand lightly. “We should wait maybe one thing for our wedding night, John.” He took her hand and toyed with her wedding ring. Their wedding ring. “But we’re already married.” Her chin went up in that stubborn tilt. “Then we will save the nightgown for Valentine’s Day. For tomorrow. It is a Valentine’s gift, yes?” The first of many. He kissed her hand. “Yes.” She started a little. “Oh, John…you gave me all these gifts, and I have nothing for you.” Silly girl. He didn’t want anything but her. “Just marry me. Marry me and give me your love. No one else ever has.” How on earth had that come out? He looked away, embarrassed. “You’re nice man. But you no say truth. Your parents must have—”
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“I never knew my father,” he said, cutting her off. “And my mother…my mother left me in an orphanage when I was small.” He set his jaw. Don’t offer me pity. Anything but that. She moved closer, and took his hand. “We will be good to our children, John. Better than our parents were to us.” He nodded, unable to speak. Her fingers laced through his, brought his hand to lay flat against her belly. “Before next year Valentine’s Day, maybe we have a child of ours.” She wanted children. His children. By the cross, she must truly love him. But… “You’re so slim,” he said. “I worry that you won’t be able…” No. He wouldn’t even say it. Not for anything in the world would he frighten her. She squeezed his hand. “Don’t be afraid, John. My mother is same as me, and she have seven healthy children.” She gave him that flirty smile of hers. “We work hard, yes? To have baby by next year Valentine’s Day?” Her smile was irresistible. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes. But even if we don’t have that baby, Mariana, I’ll still have you. The first Valentine’s Day present I ever got.” He kissed her softly. “And the best I ever will get.”
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About the author: A lifelong daydreamer, Doreen DeSalvo sold her first short story at the age of eight. Her payment was a candy bar. Over thirty years later, her passion for writing—and chocolate— remain. She currently lives in a Victorian house in San Francisco with the man she fell in love with as a teenager. Having experienced her own personal fairy tale, she can think of no career more rewarding than writing passionate love stories. Doreen welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Also by Doreen DeSalvo: Authors In Ecstasy
VALENTINE WISHES Mlyn Hurn
Mlyn Hurn
Chapter One “National Suck-Up Day!” Valentina Vale spoke softly and then she took a sip of her gourmet coffee. The handsome gray-haired man seated beside her at the small table in the trendy coffee shop coughed in surprise at her words. As she watched, he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “And before you ask, Mark, no, I’m not kidding. That is exactly what her ex-fiancé called Valentine’s Day.” Mark Magnuson shook his head in disbelief. “And that is the excuse he used to avoid buying your daughter a present?” “Yes. This started with Vicky’s first real boyfriend in high school. I thought he was a schmuck, but Victoria seemed to find something attractive in him. What that was I’ll never understand! Not a single one of Vicky’s suitors had an ounce of true romance in them. I’m not saying my daughter’s had a slew of men in her life, but her ex-fiancé…well, he was the worst— the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.” Valentina reached out and covered Mark’s hand with hers. “That’s one of the reasons I’m anxious to have her participate in the fashion show. I want her to believe in love and romance once again. She has gone on a few dates since moving away, so it isn’t that she hates men. Quite honestly I know that I am probably being the overprotective mother. Most likely it’s because of my happiness and now I want my daughter to have the same. And I know she is going to love you, Mark.” “I’m looking forward to finally meeting your elusive daughter, darling.” “I know, Mark. She hates this time of the year. I think she refuses to go anywhere until Valentine’s Day is finally over. Her life is just home and her job, which is done almost entirely from her apartment for now. Her quiet period is the break between Valentine’s Days and Easter.” Valentina shrugged, shaking her head. Mark put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. “It sounds like this jerk really did a number on your daughter. They weren’t married, right?” “No, luckily she wasn’t that foolish. He did ask her, though, several times. I think the problem goes much deeper than just this last man. In high school, she dated some jock on the football team. He was of the opinion that he was popular enough that he didn’t need to buy a girl any gifts. I’m beginning to fear that perhaps Vicky just has terrible taste in men—unlike me, of course.” Valentina leaned toward her new husband and kissed him lightly. “I love you, Mark Magnuson. I am so glad that I knocked you down in Venice.” Mark laughed and nodded his head. “Me, too, my love. I wish Vicky could have come to the wedding.” “I know. I feel unmotherly in agreeing with you, Mark, because I wish she had come as well. She has decided that she doesn’t want to fly ever again.”
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“I can understand her fears, though, Valentina. After all, she was on one of the planes that were in the air the morning of September eleventh. A lot of people are still suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder in one way or another.” “And if we’d delayed the wedding long enough for her to drive back to New York City from California then she would have come. I considered waiting, except you were leaving again and I wanted to travel with you. I’m just so glad that your son took over the financial end of my business. I don’t know if he realizes how much he has relieved my stress and freed my creative spirit once again.” “Nothing in this world pleases Kirk more than having more money to worry over.” “Still, Mark, there was nothing in our loan papers that suggested his stepping in to manage everything on such a personal level.” Valentina took a sip of her coffee and then glanced at her watch. “Oh dear! I’ve got to scoot, darling! I’m supposed to be meeting Vicky at the store for her fitting. Somehow I just know it is going to be painful.” “What will be painful, darling?” “Just the whole returning home thing, Mark. She’ll be faced with her ex-fiancé at the store—” “What? Who?” “I’m sorry, darling. I should have told you sooner. Her fiancé was Nick Ingles. They worked together, which I guess is how they got together. Only after they started dating did Nick share his views on romance and holidays.” “Why would a guy down on romance go into designing wedding dresses?” Valentina laughed as she shook her head negatively. “I think it was a case of being so damned good at something that he got steered in this direction. Anyway, he was just the last straw for Vicky. There were only a few guys she dated before Nick, but each one seemed to have the same mind-set.” “Has she been dating since she moved there?” “She says yes, but I doubt it. I think she decided to become a new kind of hermit.” “Hmm. Are you sure she doesn’t hate men? Maybe all the while this was leading to one of those life-altering changes kind of thing.” Mark shrugged his shoulders, his embarrassment at even broaching the subject apparent on his face and in his demeanor. “Unless things changed dramatically, no. Whenever we’d go shopping and see an attractive, strapping young stud I would see her looking. Vicky always denied it, saying it was the artist in her that appreciates his good bone structure. But I would get her by asking what bone structure lies in his ass!” Mark laughed out loud. Picking up his wife’s hand, he pressed his lips to her fingers. “I just wish that something wonderful would happen for her,” Valentina murmured. “Perhaps she will have surprised you and developed a whole new attitude regarding Valentine’s Day and love.” Valentina stood and hugged her handsome new husband. “I am always hopeful. We’ll see you for dinner at the restaurant. Kirk knows the time and place, right?” “Yes, darling. And I’ll call him again to verify things. Stop worrying!”
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Victoria Vale cursed the fates above once again. Of course she loved her mother and would do anything for her, like give her a kidney or something like that. But appearing in a Valentine’s Day fashion show was pushing her buttons, and her nerves were wearing thin. The drive had been uneventful, even in a rental car. At least it was only one way, and she was going home on the train. The only problem had been driving in the city, to the rental office. She’d forgotten how much she liked, but also disliked the city. The quiet life she lived in California suited her so much better than this frantic-paced urban jungle. Still, there were things in the city that she truly did like. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor where her mother’s office was located. Her secretary, Denise, wasn’t at her desk, so she walked straight into her mother’s office. For the first couple of moments everything looked normal. White lace, silk and satin were scattered nearly everywhere in the room. Several mannequins were in different stages of undress. White shoes half in and half out of their boxes occupied one corner. In another corner were at least three torso-only mannequins, displaying very sexy lingerie. Vicky felt her eyes widen in shock as she saw how skimpy and exotic some of the pieces of underwear appeared to be. She’d never seen lingerie or shoes in her mother’s office before. Surely her mother wasn’t expanding her business! “You’re late! Strip off quickly because the fitter will be here in a few minutes.” Vicky turned to where the voice was coming from. A tall, dark-haired man was standing behind her mother’s desk, going through some papers in his hands. He wasn’t even looking at her. Okay, she thought, reminding herself to be patient, after all he was only a man. “Excuse me…” Vicky spoke softly to get his attention. Suddenly the man looked up and she saw that he was wearing wire-rimmed glasses so she couldn't really see his eye color. But the look on his face didn’t appear in the least bit welcoming. His voice and words reinforced her premonition exactly. “Good God! You’re all wrong! Denise!” he yelled as he set the papers down on the desk. “She’s not at her desk.” “Then who told you to come in here?” The man was coming around the desk. It was impossible for Vicky not to stare at his tall, fit body, which was revealed by the jeans and white T-shirt he was wearing. Perhaps her mother had hired a personal assistant. This one would certainly put a stir into the hearts of the women who worked here! “No one told me to come in. I just walked in,” Vicky added, as if that would help explain things. “Do I need to call security to get you to leave?” What nerve! Vicky didn’t like this new assistant of her mother’s. Sure, he was gorgeous to look at, but looks were not important, as she’d learned the hard way…twice! Clearing her throat, she shook her head and replied. “I always walk in without waiting.” Vicky instinctively took a combatant stance she’d learned in her Tai Kwan Do class. She kept her hands down, letting her purse slide off her shoulder. “And who are you, anyway?” “Not that it’s any of your business, but I am Kirk Magnuson.”
*****
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Kirk paused a few feet from the feisty, dark auburn-haired woman. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn't decide what it was. She was too plump to be a model, unless she was one of the plus-size models for the line expansion Valentina was undertaking with the loan she’d gotten from his father. He still had trouble calling her “mother” or even thinking of her as his stepmother. Folding his arms across his chest, he slowly let his eyes move over the woman’s form. She was wearing jeans—as he was—but hers were tight and clung to all her rounded curves. Her waist nipped in and a very impressive bosom pushed out her T-shirt. As his gaze moved upward, he noted her full lips, high cheekbones, bright blue eyes and smooth, peach-tinted skin. With her hair in a knot he could only guess that it reached her shoulders. “Turn around,” he told her in a commanding tone. As she turned, she kept watching him over her shoulder. Kirk let his eyes move down and take in the nicely rounded ass cupped by her tight jeans. Damn! She might not be a model, but she was hot! He was stunned to realize he was aroused. Abruptly he turned and stormed back to the desk. The last thing he needed in his life was a woman! At the desk he pulled the chair out and sat down. Picking up the phone, he pressed the button for his secretary. “Denise, please bring me the lists with the models’ names, agents and fees.” Less than a minute later, his office door opened and his blond secretary came in. Technically she was still Valentina’s secretary, but once Valentina’s office was moved to the design center, Denise would become Kirk’s personal assistant. She’d only taken a few steps when she saw the woman. Instead of continuing toward him, she cried out. “Vicky! Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!” Kirk watched in disbelief as the two women hugged. Then it dawned on him what Denise had called the other woman…Vicky. This had to be Valentina’s daughter from California. That’s why she had been so comfortable and walked in without even knocking. She’d lost weight and with her hair up, she looked different than the photograph Valentina carried. Slowly he leaned back, clasping his fingers, his forearms resting on the wooden arms of his chair. So this was his elusive stepsister who was too scared to fly home for her mother’s first and hopefully only wedding. He wasn’t as inclined toward sympathy and understanding as Valentina and his father had been. “I can’t believe Valentina got you to agree to be in the fashion show, Vicky,” Denise said with a grin, walking toward the desk and giving him the file he’d requested. And unlike her usual respectful attitude regarding her future boss, she immediately turned toward Vicky once again. “Guilt. Like most Catholic mothers, she wields it like a master.” “Well, I know you’ll do a fantastic job. Maybe we could have lunch while you’re here and catch up on our lives.” “That sounds super, Denise. Once I get my schedule from Mom we can find a date.” A few seconds later Denise closed the door behind her, leaving them alone. Kirk came to his feet once again, circling the desk. From the look on her face, he was pretty sure she had not yet made the connection between his name and her mother’s new husband. That alone was rather insulting. Obviously she cared so little for her mother’s new husband that she wasn’t
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used to Valentina’s equally new last name. Granted, she was still Valentina Vale professionally, but with family and friends, she was Mrs. Mark Magnuson. “So you are the famous Vicky Vale.” His voice was terse and even a little condescending. Sure, he was attracted to her, but none of that should matter anymore. “I am not famous,” she replied, taking a step backwards to put a little more space between them. “I’m just the owner’s daughter. Are you my mother’s new assistant?” Kirk grinned, seeing how she’d retreated from him. Obviously he was either intimidating her or setting her on edge. Either option suited him at the moment. “Sort of, I guess. I manage all the financial sides of the business.” Vicky retreated backwards another step. “What’s with the shoes and the lingerie? Is she expanding or something? I thought she was going to cut back.” “As many fashion houses have discovered, you need a profitable bridge-line to carry the haute couture successfully.” “What is a bridge…line?” Vicky’s frown and lack of knowledge made him feel good, which he argued in his head was silly, and he was starting to think his feelings were beginning to resemble sibling rivalry! Good God! How could he go from successful businessman to feeling like a randy teenager who was jealous of his stepsister? He took a deep breath before he replied. He needed to stomp these feelings into the ground. “It’s a profitable, lower-priced line of designs, such as Ralph Lauren’s Polo and Calvin Klein’s CK.” Vicky shook her head and crossed her arms. Kirk immediately noticed how that pushed her full breasts into prominence. Deliberately he attempted to concentrate on the conversation. Vicky spoke slowly. “You mean she is franchising and selling her name?” “That sounds rather stuck-up, don’t you think?” he said. From the tone in her voice or perhaps it was the look on her face, it seemed easy for him to make that assumption. “How dare you? You don’t know me at all, or my mother, either, for that matter. She’s always stuck to her guns and never sold out.” “Times change and you haven’t been out here to help her, or really know what is going on with the business.” Vicky took a step closer. “And I suppose you have?” Suddenly she poked him in the middle of his chest with her finger. “It’s been almost two years since you last came here,” Kirk reminded her callously. For some reason he wanted to rub her the wrong way. He wanted to make her lose her temper so he could see if it rose slowly or went off like a firecracker. Vicky poked him again, stepping a bit closer. Kirk could see the fire in her eyes building slowly. “I imagine you thought that you were going to sneak in and trick my mother into marrying you, huh? Instead she goes off to Venice and marries somebody else. That leaves you as the lowly assistant.” “That’s one way to look at my position,” Kirk replied. And even though it was unnecessary, he crossed his arms and let the corner of his mouth turn up in a semblance of a knowing smile.
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“Maybe I’ll talk to my mother and have her fire you!” She jabbed him with her finger again. Kirk shook his head side to side. “That wouldn't be wise. I’d have a good wrongful dismissal lawsuit for sure. Last thing the new bride needs is a nasty court case.” “God! You really are a—” “Darling! When did you get here?” Valentina Vale ran across the distance and hugged her daughter tightly. “Have you been to my old apartment yet? You can stay there, or you can come and stay with Mark and me. We have plenty of room in his townhouse. I know you’ll love it there. And we’re all having dinner tonight.” “Mother! Take a breath!” “I see you two have already met. I had hoped to get here in time to introduce you, but now that you’ve gotten to know each other we can jump right in.” Valentina tossed her purse aside. “I’ve arranged to have the rest of this stuff moved out of here tomorrow morning, Kirk. I think you will be much more comfortable in here once I’m gone.” Kirk had been watching his stepsister, so he caught the look that crossed her face as her mother spoke. He was still pretty sure that Vicky had not caught on to just who he really was yet. Deciding to irritate her just a little bit more before she found out the whole truth, he put his arm around Valentina’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I’ll miss seeing your lovely face.” Kirk spoke loud enough for Vicky to hear even as he hugged Valentina close. He saw the fire flare in the younger woman’s eyes as her eyelids opened wider in disbelief and her mouth formed a soundless “o.” This was almost too much fun. Kirk pushed away the niggling bit of conscience that wanted to question why he was really so intent on irritating his stepsister instead of trying to build a sibling relationship. He opened his mouth to explain, but Valentina stepped away and grabbed her daughter’s hand. “I’m stealing Vicky away, Kirk. We have lots to get done and not much time to accomplish it.” She retrieved her purse and, tugging her daughter’s hand, pulled Vicky behind her. At the door, Valentina waved and called back over her shoulder. “See you later, dear.”
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Chapter Two Vicky trailed behind her mother the rest of the day. Everywhere they went people she knew greeted her warmly. Nearly every place her mother stopped appeared to be undergoing some kind of reconstruction or remodeling to some degree. The design area was more than the usual studio one might expect. The lighting was so perfect that Vicky confessed to her mother. “I’m jealous of this studio, Mother. This lighting is fabulous. In fact, the whole studio is like a dream for any artist.” “I’d be delighted to have you come back, Victoria.” “I know, Mother. But I’m doing well with my new job. And it isn’t making me quite as crazy anymore.” Valentina sat down at one of the design tables. “I think it’s terrible, though, that they won’t move you to another day.” Vicky smiled at her mother. “It’s my fault that I happened to be the best Valentine’s Day artist they’ve ever had for their greeting card line. Just as it’s my fault that I can’t stand the holiday. Good old National Suck-Up Day!” Vicky walked over to look out the window. It always impressed her when she saw how much her mother had achieved, despite being an unwed mother-to-be at nineteen. Whereas Vicky herself had every advantage money could buy, she also had two defunct relationships, and was now doing something she really didn’t love, driven from her job by her last relationship. She was almost pathetic, she decided in a moment of self-pity. All she needed now was a carton of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream to top it all off. “It’s not your fault, Vicky. It’s those two losers you had as boyfriends. The first one was too cheap to buy you a present on any special day and the second called it ‘National Suck-Up Day.’ My God, it’s a miracle that you don’t hate men. Uhm, you don’t hate men, do you, dear?” Vicky laughed as she shook her head. “No, Mother, I still find the opposite sex attractive.” No sooner did the words leave her mouth then a vision popped into her head. It was the face of the man she’d just met in her mother’s office. Immediately she could feel her heartbeat increasing, which only made her more irritated. Shaking her head again, perhaps to remove his face from her mind, Vicky crossed to stand by the table. “First semi-attractive man to ask me and I’ll go on a date with him. I haven’t sworn off men, Mother.” Bending forward, she rested her forearms on the table. “Working from my apartment, I just don’t have that much contact.” “Couldn’t you move back home then? You could just as easily send them your work from here.” Vicky looked away from her mother’s pleading gaze. Lately she had been thinking the exact same thing. “I think that sounds like a perfect idea!” Vicky turned in surprise at hearing that voice. Her eyes told her that her ears had heard correctly—the voice did indeed belong to her last boyfriend, or fiancé, according to him. He
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looked just the same as he had when Vicky had said “enough” and run away. His blond hair was sun-streaked, though not naturally, and his perfect tan was achieved through a tanning salon. He was dressed to show off his physique, and she was sure he still had women falling all over him. “Hello, Nick.”
***** Halfway across the room, Kirk stopped abruptly as he saw Nick Ingles hugging Vicky. Stepping back quickly, he watched surreptitiously as Nick turned her slightly during the hug, managing to slide one hand down to cup that sweet ass he’d been admiring earlier. The surge of jealousy shocked him and he turned abruptly and stormed back up to his office. He’d wait to discuss this issue with Valentina later. He sat waiting for thirty minutes for Vicky to return. Every time he realized that he had been waiting and watching the clock on his wall, he’d angrily get busy doing something. Of course, each time the distraction was only for a few minutes and then he was thinking about her once again. Looking at the purse Vicky had left behind, Kirk replayed in his head what he wanted to say to this impertinent little miss. Even before he’d met her, he acknowledged that he had some pretty definite preconceptions about a daughter who didn’t bother coming to her mother’s wedding. It didn’t matter that Valentina had told him many times that she didn’t hold this against her darling daughter and once he met her, he’d see how lovely and endearing she truly was. Kirk certainly agreed she was lovely—like a lush, fully developed rose. But her temperament was something he wasn’t quite so sure of. Suddenly the door of his office opened. Swinging his chair around, he watched as Vicky walked toward him. He didn’t resist the urge to let his gaze roam down her luscious body and then slowly back up. With a half-smile, he decided that Vicky Vale was like candy for the eyes. When his gaze landed on hers though, he quickly saw that she was not amused by his slow and deliberate perusal. He spoke quickly, not wanting to reveal his thoughts or the hard-on that seemed to be intermittently plaguing him since her arrival. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, watching as she picked her purse up from where he’d placed it on the corner of his desk. “I forgot my purse, and no, I’m not leaving just yet. I’m going to spend some time down in design.” “Staying here will only distract your mother from her work.” Kirk paused as he realized how ridiculous he was starting to sound. “I don’t see that this is any business of yours, since you work for her, but I am going to help Nick with a problem he’s having.” Thinking about Vicky with Nick angered him for reasons he wasn’t ready to think about just yet, so he pushed them away. “How can a greeting card artist help a clothes designer?” Vicky didn’t reply right away and Kirk saw the answering flash of irritation and anger on her face. He was pretty sure that he saw her struggle to control her responses also. A moment later she swung her purse so the long strap hung over her shoulder. She then rested her hands on her hips, shifting so that one hip was cocked sideways. Vicky appeared to be ready to do battle, in his opinion.
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“Look—” Vicky spoke just the one word and then shook her head. “Please call my mother if you doubt my abilities.” She turned on her heel and stormed out of his office.
***** Vicky entered her mother’s apartment a few hours later, setting her two suitcases on the floor. She kicked the door shut behind her as she juggled the keys, her purse and the long dress bag her mother had sent her home with. Slowly she walked into the living room, unconsciously looking for changes since she’d lived there. Like a magnet, she was drawn to the windows that overlooked the park below. Speaking out loud, her thoughts spilled out. “I can’t believe she gave up this place to move anywhere else! Where could this Mark guy live that would be better than this?” “Perhaps Valentina just prefers living at her new husband’s home.” “Eek!” Vicky screamed even as she spun around, hearing someone else in the apartment. Across the room was the man she had met earlier in her mother’s office. The difference was that he was now wearing only a towel around his waist. “I guess Valentina forgot to tell you that I was living here as well. I’m sure she figured the place was big enough for the two of us.” Vicky felt her head spinning and wanted to blame it on the lack of food. But looking at Kirk’s semi-naked body she was having her doubts. That dizzy feeling and the little zinging sensations along her nerves were telling her it was an attraction, not a repulsion kind of thing. The last thing she needed, Vicky told herself sternly but silently, was to get involved with another man who worked for her mother. She reached her hand out, grabbed one of the dining room chairs and plopped down on it. In the back of her head she could hear her mother’s voice reminding her not to treat antique furniture like some kind of cheap “rent to own” stuff. Just a few seconds later, she saw that Kirk was walking toward her. Her stomach leapt into her throat and her heart began pounding. As he came closer, she took in the way his wet hair had flopped forward a little on his forehead, which only made him sexier. Instantly she knew that distance was the needed remedy here. There had not been one iota of interest shown on his part toward her and unrequited lo…her brain stumbled over the word and changed it to passion. Heck! As far as she knew, she was too full-figured for his taste, especially since he worked around skinny models all the time. For a moment she smiled. She felt quite proud that she had not used the word f-a-t in reference to her size. It wasn’t easy, but she was working on separating her self-image with her body image. Dr. Phil would be proud of her! Meeting Kirk’s eyes, she immediately realized that he was smiling back. Good God! What must he be thinking of her? Starting to stand, she reached out with one hand while resting the other on the lovely lace tablecloth. It was only natural for the linen to shift, thanks to the high gloss shine beneath it. Unfortunately, Vicky lost her balance and seemed to be falling. Thinking about it later, it would have been better if she had fallen.
***** Kirk had decided to sit on the chair beside Vicky. Seeing her slip, his instinctive reaction was to grab her. He was successful in catching her upper arms, and that’s when he felt his towel falling off. Split-second decisions in wheeling and dealing were his specialty. This wasn’t 136
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business, though. Releasing one of Vicky’s arms, he tried to grab the towel. Off balance, he fell and brought Vicky down with him. He’d swear he twisted so he could cushion her landing, but the next thing he knew, he was naked and lying on top of the sexiest body he’d been attracted to in a long time. He met her eyes a moment later and stared into the blue depths. This close to her, feeling her softly rounded belly cushioning his hips while her lush breasts pressed against his chest, there was no doubt in his mind that he was attracted to Vicky Vale, like it or not. Resistance was futile as his gaze was drawn to her full lips, which parted slightly as she breathed in and out rapidly. His usually clever and acerbic wit seemed to have deserted him all of a sudden. All he could think about was kissing her soft mouth while he curved his hand around her breast. “You’re crushing me. I know I was the softer of the two of us to land first—” Vicky spoke breathily to him. Kirk immediately pushed upward with his hands against the floor to remove most of his weight, but it still didn’t allow her to slip from beneath him. He watched her face as she pondered his half-move, wondering what she would do now. As her lower lip slipped between her teeth, he knew she was considering her options. “I’m sorry I couldn't stop your fall,” Kirk added a few seconds later. “No, it’s really my fault. I grabbed your towel…” Vicky’s voice faded away. Kirk could see the realization dawning that without his towel, he was pressed against her. “Oh my God! You’re naked!” Kirk had to grin. “That’s what usually happens when I take a shower. Have you learned of some other way than taking off all of your clothes? I’d be interested in seeing that demonstration.” Vicky pressed her hands against his shoulders. The blush that stained her cheeks also ran down her neck. Kirk wondered how far down across her chest it extended. But giving way under the steady push of her hands, he rolled away from her soft body. The towel was wrapped around his hips once again as Vicky came to her feet. “I need to shower,” she murmured as she scooted past him. Kirk watched her pick up the dress bag. Instead of walking down the hallway, she turned to look at him. Almost as if he sensed her question, he replied quickly. “I’m in your mother’s old room. Valentina wanted to keep your room just as it was when you were living here.” Vicky met his eyes for a second. “Thanks.” Kirk watched her as she almost ran away from him to her old bedroom. He turned to look out the window. This growing attraction for his stepsister was probably not a good thing. But the fall on the floor and pressing against her soft, rounded curves were giving rise to lots of sexy and amazing thoughts. Just thinking about her in the shower, letting the hot water course down across her body, was making him harder and hotter than he’d been in a very long time. After a minute or two, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Only problem now was that he needed a cold shower. Walking back to his room, he saw Vicky’s two suitcases at the door. Shrugging, he picked up the two bags and carried them to her room. The door was only partially closed. “Vicky? I’ve got your suitcases.”
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Kirk waited at least a minute and then he pushed the door open and walked into her room. He set both cases by the dresser. From here, he could hear the sound of the water from the shower. God! It was almost too easy to close his eyes and picture Vicky standing beneath the water spray. Was she facing the shower and letting the water hit her face before it sluiced down over her lovely, round breasts? In his imagination, Kirk saw himself stepping up close behind her. His hard cock eagerly pressed between her fleshy thighs and he lifted his hands to cup and then squeeze those lavish breasts that he was starting to daydream about on a regular basis. Or maybe she let her head fall back so the water saturated her hair and coursed down her body. It was almost poetic, but in an erotic way, imagining her hands lifting to slick her hair away from her face. The way her breasts tilted up seemed an invitation to more than just his hands. Massaging her left boob with one hand, the other gently lifted the right for his mouth to envelope her tight nipple. Should he just circle it with his tongue or suckle it like a babe eager for sustenance? The water stopping in the bathroom caught his attention and brought him out of his erotic daydream. Hearing the shower door open, he decided that retreat was the only real option at the moment. Vicky probably would not appreciate finding him—his cock rock hard and barely concealed by the towel—in her bedroom when she walked in a few seconds from now. Quickly, and with much regret, Kirk turned and headed toward his room.
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Chapter Three Vicky walked back into the living room, knowing that she was late. Immediately she saw that Kirk was dressed and glancing at his watch. “I’m sorry that I’m late. I hadn't really planned on dining out tonight.” “It’s fine. I doubt they’re even there yet.” Nodding once, she pulled her coat around her and tucked her small, flat purse under her arm. “I’m set then. Are we taking a cab to the restaurant?” “Yes. It’s a few blocks from here and Valentina said they’d be taking the limo and would give us a ride back here afterward.” Vicky stepped past Kirk as he held the door open, and she immediately noticed the scent he was wearing. It was masculine and seemed to be mingling with her scent, lingering, and then meandering up through her senses. He had looked drop-dead gorgeous in his dark suit and light-colored tie. She tried not to stare at him, but it wasn’t easy. For a few seconds, she tried focusing on Nick. That should distract her, surely. The elevator opened up and they stepped inside. Once the doors had closed, Kirk pushed the button for the lobby and then casually pointed toward her left shoulder. As she turned, he spoke softly. “They have two cameras in here now, so we’ll have to behave ourselves.” Vicky gasped in surprise and whipped her head back around. Kirk was smiling a little. Angry, she glared at him and stared straight ahead. Damn! It didn’t make her mad that he had spoken the words. She was pissed because his words had so accurately matched the thoughts going on inside her head. Like…what would Mr. Perfect do if she turned to him, slipped her hand around his neck and then kissed him hard? He’d have to use that pristine white handkerchief because she was planning on giving him a lip-lock that would leave “kiss prints” in its wake. “We should have a cab waiting. I called down earlier and asked Charlie if he’d call one for us a few minutes ahead of time.” Vicky took a deep breath. Nervously she reached up to tuck her hair behind her right ear. There wasn’t anything to push back because her hair was pinned up in a fancy forties-style hair snood her mother had bought for her. It made her look elegant, and matched the black dress she was wearing. She opened her mouth instead. “Are you always so well-prepared?” Vicky heard the snippy remark leave her lips and wished she could immediately recall the words. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to sound like an old spinster like her great-aunt Gertrude. Kirk turned to face her, leaning against the elevator’s wall. With his arms folded across his chest, he casually lifted and pressed his right foot back behind him. Vicky was intensely aware of how sexy he looked, and casual despite the expensive suit, shirt and tie he was wearing. Obviously, Kirk was one of those men who looked great in his clothes. In that classical yet relaxed pose, he could have come straight from the pages of GQ magazine.
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The heat covered her cheeks a second later. Popping into her thoughts was the picture of him standing before her in just the towel. There could be no argument that he had looked pretty damned good dressed in almost nothing, as well as out of the skimpy covering. Granted, she’d only gotten a brief glimpse, but the blur was impressive and left her wishing for more. During her shower it had been too easy to picture Kirk joining her. Remembering what she had been doing with her hands caused her to swallow unexpectedly and then start to cough. Kirk’s strong hand immediately pounded her back and she dropped her purse. The doors opened into the lobby, allowing her purse to bounce out before it disclosed its contents. Kirk and Charlie, the building’s doorman, bent down to recover the few things that rolled out. She was ready to take a sigh of relief when she noticed that Kirk was picking up the one thing she’d forgotten was in the purse from the last time she’d used it—a condom. It had been a night on the town with her girlfriends, and at the beginning one of them had passed out one condom a piece as she bid them, “Here’s to getting lucky and being safe!” Now, seeing the look on Kirk’s face as he handed her the purse first and then the condom, told her way more information than she wanted to handle just then. Ignoring him, she greeted the older man. “Thank you, Charlie. All these years and you are still picking up my things. Thank you.” “Always a pleasure, Miss Vicky. You and your mother have always been decent to me. Treated me with respect.” Vicky smiled. She’d always liked Charlie. He’d worked here as a doorman in the evening hours and as building superintendent during the day and night hours. Two of his children were close to her age and they had played together in the basement a lot. She touched the doorman’s forearm, realizing how nice it was to see people from her past. “How is your wife doing? I wrote to Mother last week asking how many grandchildren you must have by now.” Charlie laughed and escorted Vicky across the marble floor of the building’s lobby. He walked out first, holding the door for her. “Not that many, Miss Vicky. Only half my kids managed to get married so far. Everybody seems to be waiting until their thirties to get married.” “This is your cab, sir,” Charlie told Kirk as he opened the yellow car’s rear door. “Thank you, Charlie.” From the backseat, Vicky saw Kirk pass a twenty-dollar tip to the doorman before he climbed in beside her. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Vicky scooted a little farther away from his body heat. She admitted that was foolish, especially this time of the year. People usually huddled closer together to conserve body heat. The thought of Kirk’s strong arm surrounding her shoulders made her feel quite warm and she was forced to lightly fan her face while she blew a few puffs of air upward, forcing her bangs to move slightly. “Are you warm-blooded?” Kirk asked her a few seconds later. Vicky knew she couldn't admit that he was the reason she felt hot! Shaking her head negatively, she realized that wasn’t right so she started nodding. Admitting silently that she probably seemed like a total fool, she cleared her throat to reply. “I’m not reptilian.” Kirk surprised her by scooting across the seat and pressing up against her side. “I never would have considered you cold-blooded. Not with that fiery red hair, anyway. Besides, I touched your skin enough earlier to know how soft it is, and not a single scale in sight.”
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“What are you doing?” she asked quickly, even though she had a damned good idea that he was following her thoughts of conserving body heat. “And my hair is not fiery.” The minute she spoke she realized that it would have been more proper for her to comment about the skin not her hair, right? Remembering the feel of his body pressed to hers so intimately was not the way to cool down! And to comment on how his skin had been would only set her up with a new daydream that would be just as impossible as the current. “I guess it is dark enough to be called auburn, but the way your eyes spark and your temper flares, you could pass for a hot redhead.” Vicky felt the feminist in her demand a fight, but his physical warmth and the rationalization that he had called her hot sapped her brain. Of course, he probably meant just her temperament was flaming. She doubted that he would have implied she was attractive. There was no room for misconception. Her body was rounded and curvy on good days, and downright plump on others. And she worked hard not to beat herself down with the words “fat” or “worthless.” “Isn’t this better?” Kirk asked a minute or so later. “Now we can keep one another warm.” Vicky nodded her head because there was no reply that wouldn't sound silly. It certainly did feel better. In fact, having Kirk’s hard body pressed against her softer curves was sexy, erotic and definitely turning her on with each passing second. Every time he took a deep breath, even though her brain was telling her that she was being silly, it seemed like he moved a little closer. She wasn’t imagining when he slid his arm around her shoulders. “Not much heat in some of these cabs, huh?” he told her, smiling at her even as his hand curved over her shoulder. Smiling back was inevitable. Kirk’s smile was gorgeous, in her opinion, with near-perfect white teeth and a mouth she was seeing herself kissing every time she closed her eyes. Her lips curved up as she shook her head. “I think they charge more if you have heat,” Vicky replied. As soon as she closed her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. What a stupid thing to say! She practically accused him of being cheap. Before she could correct her previous statement, Kirk grinned at her again. “If I’d known it was an option, I’d have checked the box on the reservation form.” Vicky laughed and she felt her body relaxing. It felt natural and right that she turned toward him somewhat on the seat. “I was just impressed that you thought ahead to have Charlie get the cab for us.” Kirk’s right hand lifted and gently pulled a few strands of her hair away from her lips, which had caught in the lipstick darkening her mouth. His fingers didn’t just pull the hairs free, though. Slowly she felt the cool, fleshy pads of his fingertips caress her cheek for a second or two. Then he tucked the hairs behind her ear. It was impossible to stop the shiver that coursed through her body when his skin contacted the sensitive rim of her ear. Breathing in deeply, it seemed like he started to lower his head— “Here you go, folks!” Kirk passed the money to the cabdriver as he scooted toward the far door. “Thanks for waiting, and for the ride.” Vicky knew that she was now going to have to scoot across the seat to exit. It was impossible to prevent her skirt sliding up to the top of her thighs, and her right thigh was
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completely visible to anyone who chose to look. Kirk’s hand came into her view, offering to help, and she took it gratefully. “Thank you,” she murmured as she stood beside him. “Let’s head in and see if they beat us here. If not, at least we can warm up.”
***** Kirk scanned the restaurant and saw that his father and new stepmother were already seated. He waved to them while waiting for Vicky to return from checking her coat and combing her hair in the ladies room. If she’d asked him, he’d have told her she looked great. She certainly had appeared kissable, desirable and amazingly fuck-able beside him in that cab. Ten seconds more on that damned backseat and he would have tested the durability of her lipstick. “Sorry for taking so long.” “Not a problem, Vicky. They are already seated.” Vicky nodded and moved in front of him as he gestured for her to precede him. She’d only gone about two steps when he saw what her coat had so successfully concealed. The dress fit almost like skin and was backless to within an inch or so of her waist. As she walked on the three-inch heels, his eyes appreciated the gentle sway of her hips and the sexy little jiggle as each foot struck the floor. Damn! Dinner was going to be hard in more ways than one. Just getting through the evening, watching Vicky and remembering how tempting it had been on the floor, was going to give him recurring visions and daydreams. This whole situation was “outside the box” but the truth of the matter was that he was horny as hell for his new stepsister! So in his mind, dinner would be a long, drawn out affair to suffer through. Mark Magnuson was already standing and he greeted Vicky with a hug. “You sit next to your mother. I’m sure you two ladies still have a lot of catching up to do.” Kirk saw the flush on Vicky’s cheeks as she took the chair his father was holding for her. From what he’d seen of his stepsister so far, his dad’s usual friendly and casual manner would take her some getting used to. Reluctantly he took the seat opposite Vicky that was beside his father. Looking from Vicky to her mother, it was obvious that Vicky was none other than Valentina’s daughter. He hoped that Vicky wouldn't be too pissed off when she realized that he was more than some guy who worked for her mother.
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Chapter Four Vicky glared at Kirk across the length of the living room. She’d held her tongue all evening, curtailing her jumbled emotions until it was just the two of them. There was no way he was going to avoid a discussion on the truth. It had all started at the restaurant. They’d only been seated at the table a few minutes when her new stepfather had patted Kirk on the back. “Well, Vicky, how are you and your new stepbrother getting along so far? Val was hoping that with the two of you sharing her old apartment you’d have more time to get acquainted.” Vicky knew she had smiled, but from that point on she didn’t remember much of anything that was said. By the time dinner ended, her cheeks hurt from forcing the smile onto her face. Inside of her, hurt and anger were boiling over. The problem, as she saw it, was that she couldn't even be sure who deserved her anger. Her mother had not said a word about Kirk being her new stepson or Vicky’s stepbrother. Kirk, for that matter, had not bothered to point out their new relationship. She was the angriest at herself for not catching on in the first place to the new family dynamics. She knew her mother’s new husband had a son. It had not made sense that she’d let one of her employees move into her old apartment. Vicky told herself countless times during dinner that she was an idiot for not catching on sooner. She almost hit her forehead with the palm of her hand at missing all those clues; especially that Kirk’s last name was the same as the man her mother had married. Duh, she admonished silently. Now, back in the apartment, Kirk was watching her as he removed his suit jacket, followed by untying and then pulling the silk tie from around his neck. Tossing them both onto the sofa, he idly rolled his shirtsleeves part way up each forearm. The reason she was really pissed was because she had allowed herself to be attracted to this man. For almost eight hours he’d been starring in mini-daydreams in her mind, and each one had been getting even more erotic and electrifyingly arousing than the last. Her enforced abstinence since her break-up with Nick had not been difficult until today. Meeting Kirk had released all of her pent up sexual needs and energies, and possibly some of her long buried wishes as well. A moment later, she realized that her gaze was glued to his hands as they started unbuttoning his shirt and it was too much for Vicky’s overwrought nerves. She spun away and walked over to the windows, staring out at the blackness beyond. Soon she saw his reflection appear just a short distance behind her. Being stern and logical, she told herself to look away from his sexy body as it was mirrored in the glass. Less than two seconds later she looked at his image reproduced almost perfectly in the night-darkened window. She needed to read his thoughts, if that was even possible in her harried state. His voice surprised her as he spoke softly. “I owe you an apology, Vicky.” “For what, Kirk, mistaking me for a tenth of a millisecond as a model? Forget about it! That happens to me all the time,” she added, hoping she could joke her way out of this conversation completely and perhaps save a little bit of her dignity. Kirk’s hand came out and lightly touched her back, near the naked skin at her waistline. Vicky jumped a little, but she didn’t pull away. Her brain told her to step out of touching range.
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Touching would not be a good idea right now, she argued on the inside. Instead she just stood there, trying to figure out if it was his fingertips or the smoother skin on the back of his hands that was gently touching her back. Her eyelids felt heavy and drifted shut, hopefully concealing her true emotions from Kirk. “No,” he told her softly. “I realized almost immediately that you did not understand who I was in your mother’s office.” Vicky kept her eyes closed, savoring the warmth of his hand against her skin. He hadn't increased the touch yet, nor had he pulled away. She wasn’t sure if this was a brotherly “howya-doin” thing or would be considered a caress between adults. It felt wonderful and she didn’t want it to stop. Her conscience butted in to remind her that Kirk was her stepbrother. That’s when his hand flattened to her flesh and she felt the full, hot imprint of his palm and every single one of his fingers. Slowly it moved sideways, edging under the fabric slightly. It was almost too easy to imagine his hand caressing its way forward and up until he held her— Bbbbbbrrrrrriiiinnnnggggg! Bbbbrrrrrriiiiiinnnnggggg. “Hell! Who the f…sorry. I can’t imagine who’d be calling this time of the evening.” Kirk moved toward the phone. Vicky watched his retreating reflection in the glass. She couldn't hold back the regretful shuddering sigh that escaped her lips. Turning toward the room, she followed him. “It’s probably my mother,” she murmured as Kirk jerked the receiver off the base. “Hello!” Vicky cringed a little at the tone in his voice, but if she’d been the one to pick up the phone her voice would have cracked from dryness. She picked up her purse, planning to go to her room, when Kirk spoke once more. His tone was a lot softer and friendlier. “No, Val, we were sitting in the living room talking. The meeting tomorrow morning?” Vicky watched as Kirk turned to look at her. She couldn't read what his thoughts were but the changes on his face told her that he didn’t agree with whatever it was that her mother was talking about. The conversation didn’t last much longer before Kirk banged the receiver back down. “Bad news?” Vicky asked him softly. Her earlier desire to needle him was gone. In its place was a desire to comfort him, as well as the even stronger lust to jump his bones!
***** Kirk looked at Vicky, still feeling the desire that had driven him to touch her a few minutes earlier. “Val wants me to bring you to the meeting tomorrow morning. That’s what she was calling about.” Vicky nodded, and then she asked him, “And you don’t think that’s a good idea?” “I didn’t say that,” he told her quickly, the whole time cursing the timing of the phone call. “It’s a financial meeting with the department heads.” “Well, I agree with you. I’m going to bed and you can tell my mother that I slept in.” Vicky turned and walked out of the living room. Kirk watched her undulating hips as she moved away from him. She stopped after a few feet, pausing to lift her right foot. He watched her perilous balance as she leaned over slightly to
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remove her shoe. She quite possibly wouldn't have lost her footing if he had not jogged the few feet and put his hands on her waist. But he surprised her enough that she did lose it, and toppled forward. Kirk tightened his hold and they stayed upright. “Lift the other foot and I’ll take that one off,” he offered while still holding her waist. A few seconds passed before she did as he suggested. He didn’t resist the urge to caress her ankle before slipping the high-heeled shoe from her foot. Her balance was reestablished but Kirk didn’t release his hold right away. When Vicky looked up, he no longer resisted the urge he’d been fighting since a short time after he’d met her earlier that day in his office. He covered her mouth with his, preventing whatever she’d started to say. She turned toward him as his mouth lifted briefly. Kirk looked into her beautiful blue eyes. Without further pause, he took her lips again. His hands pulled her close to his body, holding her tightly. As he felt her fingers lightly touching his waist, he relaxed his grip to see what she would do. He realized that he’d really rushed her, and perhaps— “We probably shouldn't do this,” Vicky whispered as she pulled her mouth away from his for a few seconds. “Why not?” “Uhm…it’s wrong.” Kirk felt Vicky’s hands flattening against his chest, slowly sliding upward. The motion stopped as her fingertips encountered his hard nipples beneath the soft, fine cotton. He watched her intently, but her gaze had lowered to rest on her hands. And then he felt the tentative, but intensely arousing sensation caused by the probing of her fingertips lightly exploring his areola. When she delicately rubbed back and forth across his hard buds, a carefully suppressed groan escaped his throat. He realized that she had heard him when she repeated the touch. This time it was a rapid, flicking against each bud. His eyes closed as he savored the increase of his ardor with each passing touch of her fingers. If his cock got much harder, he figured he would embarrass himself, which had not happened since his teen years. It was easy to wonder what it would feel like to press against her softly rounded belly. From there it was not difficult to imagine how sweet it might feel to be buried deep inside her body. “Sweet heaven above, Vicky, you are driving me crazy!” Kirk groaned as her fingers curved inward to squeeze the muscles beneath her hands.
***** Vicky seemed to come out of her sensual fog, hearing his hoarse voice pleading for her…she wasn’t sure if he wanted her to continue or stop. In fact, all she’d been concerned with was her own pleasure. The whole time she caressed his broad chest and explored his hard nipples, she’d been wondering how it would feel if her hands were resting on his warm flesh instead of the cotton of his shirt. Lifting her head, she saw that Kirk’s eyes were closed and his jaw clenched. Rising on her tiptoes, Vicky pressed her mouth to his. Ignoring all the signals that told her this was a bad idea and she really should stop, she slid her tongue along his lower lip. Before she had a chance to think about her next action, Kirk’s reaction took her by surprise.
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His mouth opened and their tongues met. There wasn’t a battle, though. Vicky surrendered to his skill. Dimly she became aware of Kirk gently guiding and moving them down the hall into her bedroom. When they reached the side of the bed, she had already unbuttoned his shirt, which rather surprised her. His hands fell away from the fastening of her dress behind her neck. She watched his hands strip his clothes off completely. Her eyes roamed over his trim and toned physique with admiration and desire. Wetness had flooded her pussy lips and the curling heat in her gut was making her hips unconsciously move to seek out his manhood. She forgot her dress had been unfastened in her eagerness to touch his hard cock, jutting proudly toward her. Kirk’s groan of desire told her that he liked the feel of her soft hands as they grasped him. When her hands began to squeeze and pull, a shudder shook his entire body. The dim light coming from the living room revealed the slickness of pre-come oozing forth. Suddenly Vicky wanted to do something she’d never done before. She bent her knees so she could kneel before him. Suddenly Kirk’s hands grabbed her upper arms, stopping her descent abruptly. “Not yet, my sweet,” he whispered through clenched teeth. Vicky felt her arms pushed to her sides, which allowed her dress to finally fall. The black material caught for a second on her breasts, and then it fell to her waist. Since the dress had a built-in bra, she was now naked above it. She tried to lift her hands to conceal her large bosoms, but Kirk’s hands held her tight. “Is there some kind of fastening I missed?” “In the back—” In less than three seconds he released the hooks and slid the zipper down. With minimal encouragement, her dress eased over her hips and dropped to her feet. Standing nervously in just her pantyhose, Vicky wondered if Kirk was seeing what she saw in her mirror every day. She was a plump, size fourteen gal who’d unfortunately inherited her grandmother’s impressive breasts. For most of her life she’d worn loose tops to disguise her rapid growth, and she was still uncomfortable in the kind of dress she’d worn tonight. “All throughout dinner I kept wondering what you had on under that damned dress,” Kirk whispered to her as his hands caressed their way up her arms. When he reached her shoulders, they curved up over her neck to cup her face. One thumb lightly caressed her lower lip for a second or two. Then he lowered his head and kissed her mouth once more. The kiss was lighter this time, gentler. Lips met for a few moments and then slipped away again. He placed a kiss on each cheekbone before he returned to her mouth. This time his tongue teased her lips apart. Vicky expected an onslaught but instead he continued to tantalize her lips and tongue, which only increased her torment. Dimly she realized that Kirk was seducing her with his gentleness. He used slow, deliberate caresses, pausing every so often to change the pace. She was already so hot that she was ready to flop on the bed and yell, “Fuck me!” “Soon, my sweet. Very soon.” Kirk’s voice made her aware that she’d spoken out loud. She felt her face flush hotly in embarrassment. Her hands lifted to cross over her chest. The smile on his face unnerved her, especially when he made no effort to lower her protective and concealing hands. “I’m going to peel these pantyhose down.”
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Vicky held her breath as she felt his thumbs catch under the elastic band. He pulled the elastic out and began easing them over her hips. Partway over her belly, he paused. “Turn and face the other way, please.” She must have revealed her doubt at his request because he added quickly, “It’s all right. I’d like to fulfill a fantasy I’ve had since you walked into my office earlier today.” Nodding her head, Vicky turned away from Kirk. Maybe she’d read him wrong and he was interested in some kinky kind of sex. Other than hating Valentine’s Day, the only two males in her life had been straightforward. Since she’d only slept with Nick, and made out with the other one, her experience of the unusual was nil. Taking a deep breath, she felt Kirk easing her hose down past her hips, her thighs and finally they dropped to her feet. Without waiting to be asked, she stepped free of the discarded clothing. Then she felt his warmth as Kirk moved close behind her. His breath danced across her right shoulder a second before the searing heat of his flesh met hers. Her gasp of surprise was audible. “Ooh!” Both of Kirk’s hands curved around her upper arms. There was no mistaking the hot, hard flesh that was now pressed between her butt cheeks. Shifting from one foot to the other, she slightly parted her legs. Without a pause, Kirk’s cock slid closer to his goal. When she heard his low, guttural moan of desire, Vicky tilted her hips and rubbed back, against his groin. “God, Vicky!” His hands slid down and cupped her hips. She responded quickly by flexing her pelvis forward and back several times. The hard rod slid between her wet lips. It surprised her how sexy and desirable she was feeling. From somewhere inside herself, she found the courage to be bold. With a deep breath, she took a step forward and knelt on the bed. Slowly, she bent over and rested on her forearms on the sheets. Closing her eyes, not even sure if this was the right position, she waited.
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Chapter Five Kirk couldn't speak. He was stunned by what Vicky was offering, if he understood her correctly. Several of his fantasies today had featured her in this position and one of them had involved his desk. Stepping close to the bed, he lifted his hands and placed them on her lower back. He felt the startled surprise that jumped through Vicky’s exposed body. It wasn’t too late. He could stop— His hands moved down her sides and then inward to cup her cheeks. The groan that came from his gut sounded loud to him, but he could not take his hands away from her luscious, round body. Pressing close to her rounded bottom, he pushed his cock between her upper thighs and wet, pink pussy lips. His right hand slid around her body and down. Moving his fingers around, he didn’t feel her pubic hair. Delving further, he continued wiggling his fingers and eased onto her clitoris. “Ooh, my God!” Vicky cried out in response. Kirk held her tightly, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pressing their bodies tightly together. Vicky flexed her hips and Kirk felt his cock pushing beyond her soft, puffy flesh. Suddenly he realized that he didn’t have a condom in his pants pocket. Then he saw the purse she tossed onto the bed. Leaning more fully across her, which pushed him deeper inside, Kirk grabbed the purse. Dumping the contents, he grabbed the condom. He was surprised that he fumbled getting it on. Sheesh! He was acting like an excited teen and this was his first time ever! His fingers had turned into nearly useless nubs as he tried to tear the package open. Suddenly the condom flew out. He snatched it mid-flight before it went too far, and then Kirk paused to take a deep breath or he knew the whole thing was going to end right there. Finally, he pressed close against her again. Eagerly he ran his hands down her back, all around her ass and then resumed his earlier position. Her body responded immediately to his clever fingers on her clit. “Oh…oh…God!” Vicky moaned and loudly called out in response. Kirk pressed with his hands, tilting her pelvis to the right position. His thrust was straight and true. His cock was now buried to the hilt and neither one of them moved for several long moments. When he felt Vicky tilt her pelvis and squeeze her muscles, he knew she was ready. Immediately he began tickling, teasing and working her sensitive nub. As she wiggled and pushed back against him, Kirk increased the attention to her stimulated, super-sensitive clit. “There…yes!” she whispered as he touched one place in particular. He shifted his finger. Kirk increased his tempo, repeating the same movement that had evoked her response. Her hips were doing most of the thrusting action until she stiffened for a second, and then her orgasm came crashing over her. Shifting both his hands to her waist, he held her steady as her body shivered and shook in reaction. The pull he felt around his cock couldn't be denied any longer. Holding her firmly, he started thrusting against her plump bottom, loving each and every time he felt her cunt muscles dragging along his rod as he withdrew. And with each push forward, he heard the slap of his balls against her bald pussy. 148
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It was the anticipatory thought of soon seeing her plump, bald pussy that collapsed the last of his control. His grip tightened on her waist and he thrust hard into her sweet flesh. His climax came fast and hard. His hips jerked forward several times as his body shot forth his seed. As Kirk released her waist, Vicky collapsed onto the bed. Quickly disposing of the used condom, he came down, lying next to her. Using his closest hand, he gently pushed the hair back that covered her face. Her eyes opened as he ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose. As hard as he tried, he couldn't tell what she might be thinking from the placid look on her face.
***** Vicky stared at Kirk’s handsome face. Her body was still in shock from the wild orgasmic release she’d experienced at his unbelievably clever hands and body. Her fantasies were tame in comparison to the real thing. Her breathing slowed somewhat as she realized that she needed to roll onto her side or back to be comfortable. “I need to turn over, so I might as well get under the covers.” “Then let’s go get into my bed. It’s bigger and we’ll be more comfy in there.” Vicky wasn’t sure how to take Kirk’s suggestion. He was already coming to his feet, though, and holding his hand out to offer her help getting off the bed. Unable to think of anything to say that would allow her to cover up, she turned and reached up to accept. Looking down at her feet to avoid seeing Kirk’s expression as he saw her body from the front, she started toward the door. It wasn’t until they reached his darkened bedroom that she realized that she had ended up leading him. Kirk turned on the lights as he walked into the room. He stepped around her and turned on a lamp beside the bed. Flipping back the covers, he smiled. “I usually sleep on this side, but if you prefer it—” Vicky shook her head, glancing up as Kirk moved past her again. This time he turned the overhead light out. When she started toward the far side, Kirk’s voice stopped her. “Get in on my side. I’m turning on the bathroom light in case you wake up during the night.” Vicky quickly crawled into the bed and scooted over to the far side. As Kirk came back, she was lying supine and had the blankets pulled up to her chin. But her eyes moved down over his broad chest, past his waist, and stopped upon reaching his groin. She didn’t realize she was staring until he spoke as he flicked the lamp off. “Staring like that has a strange effect on me.” Kirk slid into the king-size bed. In the dim light, Vicky saw him roll onto his side, facing her. “And while there is nothing I’d like better than to spend most of tonight making love with you, we have to be at the damned meeting in the morning.” Vicky flushed at his words. The thought of doing more fun things with him had been going through the back of her mind as well. Hearing him express their sex act as making love caused her to get those nervous little butterflies in her stomach. Suddenly, thousands of wings were beating madly inside her. She watched as Kirk turned back over and began setting the bedside clock. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to calm down. It was time to sleep. She rolled onto her side, away from him, because this was how she usually slept. Closing her eyes, she told herself that this was no big deal. Lots of people stayed the night to sleep after 149
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sex. The truth of the matter was that she’d never shared a bed with anyone. Well, that wasn’t completely true. Occasionally she would come into her mother’s room as a child late at night seeking comfort. Her mother always let Vicky burrow next to her, while she told her daughter how much she loved her. Of course, Vicky recalled with a small smile, her mother would often tell an extra bedtime story as well. The bed shifted and she felt Kirk’s heat coming toward her. His hand lightly touched her hip as he settled in close behind her. “Spoon fashion! I’m glad you thought of it, sweetheart.” Vicky’s eyes opened wide as Kirk nestled in tightly behind her. It was hard to be aware of all the sensations at once. She felt his breath on her neck and shoulder as he lifted her hair and draped it forward. His hand lightly caressed its way down the slightly curved line of her back to her waist. It was nearly overwhelming as the heat from his groin pressed firmly against her bottom. With his arm draping forward, across her hip, it brought his chest in contact with her back. Lying there in the darkness, Vicky was so keyed up that she couldn't be wound any tighter. But then Kirk slowly eased his hand away from her waist. Her breath caught in her chest as his hand touched the bottom curve of her breast. That nipple was already pearled up tight in anticipation of being discovered. It didn’t have long to wait. Kirk’s fingers lightly rubbed the underside for a few seconds. But that wasn’t his goal. Moving purposefully, his hand inched upward. Vicky expected him to cup her breast and begin squeezing. That had been the approach she’d experienced in the past. Instead, Kirk used just one finger to find her taut nipple. Vicky couldn’t keep from stiffening her spine in surprise at this light and questing exploration. Breathing quite shallowly, she felt his finger barely touch the tip. Next he circled the halfinch extension of puckered flesh by circling around it several times. What Vicky didn’t expect was to hear Kirk’s voice or feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke. “You have beautiful breasts.” Nervous, and surprised by what Kirk had said, she spoke quickly. “I used to sleep in here with my mother.” Immediately the sensual caress paused. Vicky got the distinct sense that her nipple was becoming harder and longer, as if it was trying to eliminate the short gap between itself and Kirk’s seductive caress. “I changed the bed,” he replied a few moments later, and then he slowly resumed the erotic touch. Vicky closed her eyes in the near darkness. It didn’t make her happy when she admitted that the sense of relaxation was relief because Kirk had resumed his seductive caress once again. She felt the rumble in his chest as he started to speak. “Almost from the first second I saw you, Vicky, I began fantasizing about your breasts.” “Ooh!” she gasped, unable to stop the surprised utterance. “Given more time, I’d be happy to enact a few of the fantasies out with you, and if you’d like, I’d be equally pleased to help you with yours. Perhaps I’ll dedicate one entire day to worshipping these lovely globes of your womanhood.” Kirk’s hand enclosed her right breast and just held the firm flesh for a few seconds before gently squeezing it. “Let’s see…breakfast in
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bed. You’ll sit up, propped by the pillows, with the sheet and blankets pooled about your waist. But your luscious body will be naked from there up.” Vicky gasped, breathing in deeply. She felt her breast fill his hand, which was now just holding her. “I will feed you breakfast.” “You’ve already eaten.” Vicky forced the words past her dry throat. “No. My reward for making you breakfast is something special. I brought in strawberry jam and I’m going to spread it all over your nipples. Then I will take my time in licking it off. First a few long, slow strokes of my tongue. Followed by a good, tight sucking to make sure I miss nothing.” Vicky groaned softly as she felt the response deep down in her body. Her hips reacted instinctively by tilting and wiggling. His statement formed an exciting word picture in her mind. A moment later she felt his hand tightening around her breast, massaging gently, but with more purpose than earlier. “Lunch will be in the kitchen, I think. We will have fresh fruit, which we will feed to one another.” Vicky was stunned as she heard her voice asking him a question. It seemed her body was taking over from her usually controlling brain! “Naked?” Kirk growled low in his throat and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I think that sounds best. You will sit on the table.” “And where will you be?” “I’ll start with feeding you and standing between your thighs. But I’m going to kiss my way down your body until you lie flat on your back, legs wide open. Then I will sit down and feast upon the treat that awaits me.” Vicky suddenly realized that Kirk’s hand had moved down her body as he spoke. He was lifting her uppermost thigh, pushing it upward, toward her stomach. She felt his body shift and his hand was now on her lower leg, the inner thigh. It moved upward and without delay, his fingers delved between her pussy lips. The touch upon her clit made her jerk in surprised and uncontrollable reaction. Each seductive movement of his finger caused an answering response in her body. Vicky lost track of how long Kirk continued to manipulate her sensitized flesh before she heard him whisper into her ear. “Turn over and face me.” Unable to resist the lure of his touch and the promise his words offered, she shifted onto her back. As she lifted her eyelids, the light beside the bed came on once again. Closing them quickly to block the brightness out, she heard a drawer open. It was only when she felt Kirk’s hand at her waist did she realize that the covers had dropped down that far. With one flip of his hand, she was completely naked, bathed in the dim light. “Open your eyes, Vicky. Please.” As she complied, she saw him above her, resting on his bent elbow. His hair was slightly tousled and fell onto his forehead. Once again she was struck by how sexy and handsome he was.
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“Just laying here on the bed with you, talking about your breasts…and I’m all ready to go again, looking at your beautiful body.” His hand touched her stomach, gently pressing it flat. “I’m wondering which one of us is going to call in sick so we can skip the meeting.” Vicky gasped and coughed in surprise at his suggestion. The truth was that she wanted to repeat what they’d done earlier. And she wanted to do it again and again and again— “I’m almost never sick,” she whispered in reply. Kirk shrugged, grinning. “Well I went through a whole list of illnesses in high school to skip out of school. I’ll pick a good one that requires some tender, extra close nursing care.” His hand slid up her stomach, between her breasts and lightly curved around her chin. He lowered his mouth and kissed her gently at first. When his tongue ventured forth, it was met by Vicky’s, and eagerly welcomed. Deepening the kiss, he slipped his hand down and over her farthest breast. He swallowed her moan as he massaged her full soft flesh. Vicky felt like she was drowning under the onslaught of sensuality. His mouth was masterful; he kissed her like no one ever had before, not even in her wildest fantasies or dreams. The large, strong hand molded her breast and squeezed it gently then firmly, alternating its rhythm, keeping her on the edge of what was to happen next. Her back bowed to press her captured breast more deeply into his grasp. Right then it felt as if no release could be possible, and that made her happy. But seconds, or perhaps it was minutes later, her breast was exposed to the air as his hand arrowed straight and true down her stomach. When he cupped her shaven mound, Kirk was the one who moaned this time. Lifting his mouth from hers, he met her gaze. “I need to see your pretty pussy, lovely lady. I need to see the sweet plump lips I’ve touched. Do you feel your wetness on my fingers?” Vicky felt Kirk’s fingers stroking over her feminine flesh, dipping between them to gather her arousal fluids. Oh yes, she felt her pussy lips slick and slippery-wet as his hand moved about. With a start of surprise, she realized that her thighs had parted to allow him easier access. “Please don’t cover your breasts, Vicky. I know…lift your arms up above your head.” She obeyed him, stunned that she had unconsciously concealed her body. A moment later she felt his hand shift, and the fingers inside her began probing more thoroughly. Considering that this whole night was turning into an unbelievable sexual odyssey, Vicky was still taken unawares as Kirk’s fingers found that spot. His thumb was working magic on her clit. Fireworks started going off inside her body. Dimly she felt Kirk remove his fingers to allow his cock to enter her. She lifted her thighs to assist him. One thrust and he was inside her. “Oh God! Kirk!” Vicky’s eyes shot up to meet his looking down at her. She felt full and her muscles were contracting and squeezing tightly around his cock. Slowly he began moving in and out of her spasming cunt. Each time he embedded his hard rod, she could feel her breasts bouncing up and down, before slowly shaking side to side. As his gaze dropped to her jiggling bosoms, Vicky felt his excitement increase. His thrusts sped up. She tried to squeeze her muscles tight and hold him inside. When he groaned, she knew she was having some success. She wanted him to feel as aroused as she did. “Vicky! Good God, woman!”
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Kirk kissed her lips, hard. As his head moved away, he met her gaze. With each thrust into her body, he held her eyes and neither looked away. Vicky had never felt so intimate before. It felt like Kirk was seeing her soul, and it was totally bare and exposed. She couldn't turn away, though. His hold upon her mind seemed to be just as strong as his possession of her body. Then Kirk slid one hand down between their bodies. Without error, one finger found her clit. His touch moved and enticed. Vicky had to close her eyes as she felt the heat and tension rising inside her once again. She didn’t think it was possible, but a moment later another climax broke over her. Her brain shut down and her body took over as spasms and contractions sent fireworks along her nervous system. Dimly she felt Kirk resume thrusting in and out of her tight flesh until his own orgasm crashed through him. From somewhere she’d thought was dead inside her came the idea of happily-ever-after with this man. Behind her closed eyelids she saw flashes of hearts and flowers. Was she too old to believe in such things? She didn’t want to be foolish and read more into this than it was; yet she couldn't shake her wish for something more. Then from the depth of her core, her innermost soul, came the unbidden desire that he was filling her body with his essence right now instead of the damned condom!
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Chapter Six The following day Kirk was tired and pissed, not to mention distracted. They never got the chance to call in sick. At some point last night they had switched positions on the bed. When the phone rang early, Vicky had spontaneously picked up the phone. “Hello!” “Vicky! Darling, is that you?” Kirk was fully awake and could hear Val’s voice coming in a surprised shriek through the receiver. He sat up slowly, turning to look at Vicky. She sat up quickly and was naked to her waist. A gentleman would wait, he discussed in his head. But then he grinned and moved in on her distracted person. As he cupped one breast, her surprise became audible. “Eek!” With the phone held an inch or so from her ear, Kirk easily heard Val’s reply. “Oh dear, Vicky! I must have dialed your number by accident. Hang up and go back to sleep. I’ll call Kirk’s number. Bye-bye, sweetheart, we’ll talk later!” In less than ten seconds, his extension rang again. Reluctantly, he reached across Vicky and answered. Before he could react to Val’s light-hearted “good morning,” Vicky slid out of bed and was running back to her bedroom. When he knocked on her door thirty minutes later, showered, shaved and ready to go to work, her reply was muffled. “I’ll take a cab! I’m not ready.” So in his mind, Kirk felt his foul mood was justified. Instead of savoring the sweet and sensual awakening that he’d been dreaming about only seconds earlier, they had been rudely awakened by her mother. He was grateful that Valentina had assumed she’d made a mistake, but he wasn’t happy at Vicky’s avoidance of him since then. Now he was using a pitiful excuse to come to the workroom to see her while still under the guise of business. After asking directions of two people in Valentina’s cutting room, he made his way to the model’s fitting area. Walking around the opening for the semi-private area, he stopped dead in his tracks. The scene in front of him was probably the last thing he had been expecting. He’d seen any number of models in here since he’d agreed to manage Valentina’s expansion plans. And of course they had often been in various stages of undress. Usually he ignored them when his mind was on straightening out accounting errors, but this was Vicky. He’d never had to experience seeing a woman he was involved with— Good God! Sirens were going in his head. Was he involved with his stepsister? Shaking his head, he promptly decided that referring to Vicky as his stepsister was not a good idea any more. So, if he was involved with her, did that automatically mean that they were in a relationship? They weren’t having an affair because only married people had affairs these days. Right? Standing in front of the mirror was Vicky. What she wasn’t wearing was enough clothes to cover her body. Instead, she was dressed in the sexiest white concoction of lingerie he’d ever
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seen. Seeing her from the rear and the front simultaneously was rather disconcerting, but definitely arousing. Sexy white heels and silky lace-top stockings were held in place by lacy white garters and topped by white satin tap panties. Her nicely rounded ass looked almost too tempting to be ignored. Next there was a white lace Merry Widow cinching her waist in tightly. God! He remembered the days when he would have just appreciated the sexy garments without even knowing their names. In the reflection he saw that the corset was pushing her breasts up in the most amazing display he’d witnessed since…hell! He couldn't remember the last time he’d been so aroused by a nearly naked woman—not counting last night, of course. Then he noticed that she was barely wearing a bra at all and with one misstep, he’d be able to see her nipples…and so could anyone else. “You look beautiful, Vicky! God! More than that, babe, you look drop-dead sexy. You make me want to be the groom that peels off a beautiful bridal gown and finds something even better beneath it.” It took Kirk a few seconds to realize that while he might have said similar words in his head, it was not his voice that had just spoken. As he stared at Vicky, Nick Ingles moved into his field of vision. Kirk noticed immediately that the other man was not speaking as a designer. “Don’t exaggerate, Nick. It doesn’t suit you.” Kirk heard Vicky speaking to the other man, but there was something in her tone as she addressed the handsome designer that made him feel a little reassured. “If you’d worn things like this when we were engaged—” “Hush, you two!” Valentina walked all the way around her daughter. “I think we need the veil, darling!” Kirk watched as Valentina turned away to sift through a pile of tulle. He was still reeling hearing that Nick Ingles had been engaged to Vicky…his Vicky! Then from the corner of his eye he saw Nick reach out and cup Vicky’s right ass cheek. In that second, Kirk thought the top of his head would blow clean off, he was so angry. But before he could take the necessary step forward, Vicky batted his hand away. Nick was undaunted, as evidenced by his reply. “Why don’t we surprise everyone, babe, and have a minister join us onstage right after you show the wedding dress and we’ll get married? That will certainly give us all the press we need to launch these lines. I still think you are the best thing since…uhm—” “What, Nick? White bread?” Vicky stepped away from the hand that seemed hell-bent on caressing her one way or another. “Come on, Vicky honey. I’ll even get in line with the Valentine’s Day crap. I’ll buy you a fucking Valentine’s card every damned day for the next ten years if that is what it takes for you to come back to me.” “What happened to the man I knew as the president of the club for men against National Suck-Up Day? All the hearts, candy and flowers are just woman’s way of getting more jewelry out of their husbands. Wasn’t that the diatribe you used to spout?” “Here we go!” Valentina chimed in. “This is the perfect veil.” She set the long, draping tulle veil on her daughter’s head, and then started adjusting and draping the material. “I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you. This is going to be a wonderful Valentine’s Day this
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year. And you’d better get used to it, Nick. I’m giving permission to the staff to celebrate for the next two weeks, right up until the afternoon of the fourteenth when we have the show.” “I promise, Mom, I’ll be a good girl. Are you sure about this veil, though? Will it go with the wedding dress?” Vicky asked. “Don’t fret, Vicky. The veil is just for this outfit. For the wedding dress, I want your hair swept up. I’ll design something else for the finale.” “Sorry to interrupt, Val, but I wanted you to double check a few things.” Kirk spoke loudly as he stepped into the fitting area. His eyes immediately went to Vicky and caught the surprised look on her face as she glanced toward him like a scared rabbit. While their eyes locked, he heard Valentina speaking once again. “Oh shoot! I left my reading glasses on my desk. Nick, be a darling and fetch them for me, please?” Kirk watched Vicky as she pulled the veil forward and across her, as if the tissue-paperthin tulle could conceal her body. Unconsciously he took a step toward her. “Oh dear! Wait here, Kirk. There is something else I need off my desk.”
***** In that moment, Vicky prayed for the earth to just open up and swallow her whole. She couldn't have been more embarrassed. This morning she’d chickened out and cowered in her bedroom until Kirk had left for work. Now he finds her half-dressed anyway, so that ridiculous bit of cowering did no good whatsoever. And she wondered if he had overheard any of her conversation with Nick. Good God, she hoped not! “I really didn’t want to start out the day that way,” Kirk murmured a few seconds later, taking another step closer. “I’d planned on waking you with kisses.” With just a few words, Kirk transported her back to the wonderfully sweet feelings she’d experienced in his arms. “Where?” Kirk grinned and came within a foot of her. “Your mouth. You have the most kissable lips.” “Then?” “Well, I can think of two places in particular.” He held her eyes. Vicky felt her cheeks heat. She knew precisely where she wanted him to kiss her. Last night she had discovered that Kirk had a real knack for sucking on her nipples. With one hand squeezing and molding her left breast, his mouth busily drew her nipple inside, which allowed his tongue to dance and tease all around the tender bud. Even now, just thinking about it, there was enough passionate fire to make her toes curl! Never before had she felt such passion, or release. It had been hot, sexy and undeniable. And when he had looked into her eyes, she was sure he pulled—or even yanked—her soul from her body. Still, he did not ravage it. Instead, he cradled it tenderly while he set off magnificent firework displays inside her. “Seeing you dressed so skimpily is giving me more ideas.” Kirk spoke softly, reaching out and lightly running his index finger from the outer side of her left breast, up and over the mound, dipping down in the center and then repeating his action on the other. Vicky started to move toward his lingering hand. The heat was nearly a tangible thing and she wanted to feel it even more! “Sorry for taking so long, Kirk.”
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Vicky and Kirk jumped apart at the sound of her mother’s voice. Vicky spun away and started removing the long veil. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as her mother gave the papers back to Kirk. Twice now Valentina had nearly caught the two of them. The last thing Vicky wanted to do was cause a rift in her mother’s new marriage. If anyone ever deserved happiness, it was Valentina Vale. “Vicky dear, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to run upstairs with Kirk.” Vicky watched as her mother and her new lover and stepbrother left. She didn’t think her mother and closest friend, or her new stepfather, would take kindly to the idea of the stepsiblings screwing one another! That probably was not what they had in mind for family reunions and future get-togethers.
***** “Val, darling, why do keep looking at your watch?” Mark took his reading glasses off and lowered the book he’d been reading. Ever since they had returned from meeting Vicky and Kirk for dinner again, Valentina had continually checked the time approximately every five or ten minutes. “I’m just waiting for the right time.” “The right time for what? To make love again? I’m not as young as I used to be, my love.” Valentina leaned the short distance across the bed and kissed her husband. “Stop right there, stud. You have more energy than I do most days. I’ve been mentally figuring the time it would take them to get to the apartment.” “Who?” Mark didn’t like feeling confused, but sometimes with Valentina it was inevitable. Valentina winked at him, and then picked up her cellular phone. Quickly she dialed a number. Mark watched as she counted the rings with her fingers. One. Two. Three. “Vicky! Is that you, Vicky?” Watching his wife’s face, she didn’t look in the least bit surprised to be talking to her daughter, despite the tone of her voice. He didn’t say anything, though, as Valentina began speaking again. “Oh dear. I am so sorry, sweetheart, but I meant to dial Kirk’s extension. I don’t know where my mind is these days. I really must tell him something tonight, since I won’t be in tomorrow morning until ten.” Valentina stopped speaking as a huge grin slowly spread across her face. Mark leaned forward to ask her a question, but she pressed her index finger against his lips for a second to request him to keep silent. “Well, good night, Vicky. I’ll call Kirk now. I just love having you back home, darling. I’ve truly missed having you nearby. I love you, too. Night-night.” Valentina disconnected the call. “What the devil do you have to talk to Kirk about that can’t wait until tomorrow?” “One more minute, my love. I beg your patience only one more minute.” Valentina had already dialed the other number. This time she counted the rings and got to six. Mark was sure he heard the call connect and his son say hello, but after a few seconds his wife shut her phone off. She set her phone on the bedside table. When Valentina turned toward him again she looked so pleased with herself that he thought she just might pop.
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“What was that all about? I’m sure I heard Kirk’s voice answer. Why didn’t you reply?” Mark asked his wife curiously. Valentina took her husband’s book and his glasses, setting them on her bedside stand. “Turn the light out, darling, and let’s go to sleep.” She was snuggling up against him and making him think about other fun things they might do. He flipped the light out, but he still wanted an answer. “I still want to know what those phone calls were about. Like this morning, mixing up the numbers. That’s not like you at all, Val. You have all the numbers programmed into the phone.” “I know, Mark, my love. I didn’t dial the wrong numbers tonight or this morning. This morning I was just playing a hunch, and tonight I confirmed it.” Val rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. “Wait a second. This morning you called Kirk’s number, knowing that you dialed the right number. Then when it was answered, you pretended you got the wrong number. Immediately you dialed the same number again—” “Yes, darling. My daughter was in your son’s room at the crack of dawn this morning, and after several rings she answered it with a very sleepy voice. So tonight, I called Vicky, pretending I wanted Kirk. I could hear some muffled conversation. I dialed quickly and on the sixth ring a very out-of-breath Kirk answered the phone in his bedroom.” Mark shook his head. “Kirk could have been down the hall, in the kitchen or even out in the living room—” “Or he could have been in my daughter’s bedroom.” “Don’t be silly, Valentina.” “Perhaps they were playing Parcheesi. I’m sure that is what Vicky was doing in Kirk’s bedroom at six this morning.” “My son is a gentleman, Valentina.” Mark felt that he had to protest. “Precisely. He has the same wonderful manners as his father. Now let me think…how long was it after we initially met before the first time that we did it?” “It’s not the same thing, Val. We weren’t related!” Valentina kissed her husband’s chin. “And we were in a foreign country. I’m sure that contributed a lot.” Mark chuckled. He’d never before felt such a rush of passion and desire for a woman that he felt like he had been drowning in it all from the first moment he saw Valentina. His first wife, Karen, Kirk’s mother, had been his childhood sweetheart. They’d been friends who over time loved one another. He’d been devoted to her until her death. Thinking back on it, he recalled standing that fateful day in the middle of San Marco Square. He’d heard a woman remark behind him, “That Bell Tower looks just like the one in Walt Disney World.” Recognizing the accent, he turned to face a beautiful woman, several years younger than he. The woman was Valentina and she had continued to grin following her traitorous remark. A few seconds later he replied, “You think Italy stole the idea from Walt?” She had shaken her head and then told him of the many trips she’d made with her daughter to visit the fantasy world. Like many Americans who travel to foreign countries, they seemed to bond. Mark had jokingly told her that perhaps she and her daughter would volunteer to be guides for he and his son. That had been until they discovered how old their children were. 158
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It was Valentina’s voice that drew his thoughts back to the present time and place. “Perhaps they were together to discuss…the fashion show.” Mark chuckled as he shook his head, getting back to the business at hand. “Why are you so sure that they are—” Mark choked over the words. “Trust me, Mark. I’m pretty darn sure now. I had a few other clues as well.” “Such as?” “Well, in the fitting room today, Nick was joking with Vicky about her marrying him on the stage as a highlight for the show. From where I was standing, I could see Kirk’s reflection in the mirror. But most importantly I saw how angry he got as Nick persisted in his teasing. Then I managed to leave the two of them alone. I snuck back and watched them for a few seconds. Let’s just say that your son was touching my daughter in a very un-brotherly way. Most importantly, Vicky wasn’t pushing him away. If I’d waited any longer to interrupt, we all would have been very embarrassed.” “I guess we’ll have to confront them,” Mark suggested without any conviction. “Not yet, honey. I have high hopes for something really developing between them. From the moment I met Kirk, I just had a feeling he’d be the right man for my stubborn and stilldisillusioned daughter. They just need some time, and a few more pushes.” “Val.” “Just a few, Mark, I promise. And didn’t you tell me that you hoped Kirk could meet a lovely woman and settle down, just like his father?” Mark nodded, watching his wife’s lovely face, lit only by the dim nightlight as she turned her head so she could look at him. “And if I remember correctly, you must have mentioned at least once that you wished Vicky would meet a nice guy.” Valentina nodded her head with fervor. “I’m a woman who makes dresses so other women can have the wedding of their dreams. Surely I’m entitled to wish that my daughter find someone as wonderful as I did.” Mark turned his wife into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. She was right. Their kids were going to do what they wanted to do, regardless of what they thought. Might as well mind their business and just go with the flow. Of course, considering his wife, it could turn into white water rapids.
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Chapter Seven Vicky found Kirk sitting on the side of his bed, naked and staring at the phone. She wasn’t sure, but she thought it had been almost ten minutes since they’d heard his phone start ringing. Since they had still been sharing her bed, Kirk jumped up and jogged down the hallway to his room. “What’s wrong?” she asked, pushing her hair back off her face. When her mother called, they had been kissing and laughing, discussing the fun things Kirk could show her in his shower. Now she wore the sheet from her bed, toga style. “Nothing. I was waiting for Val to call.” Vicky walked over and sat beside him. “We heard the phone ring.” “Yeah, but when I answered it, whoever it was hung up without saying a word. I figured Val must have gotten a busy signal and would be calling back shortly.” “If she hasn’t called back by now, I doubt she will.” Vicky reached over and rested her hand on Kirk’s thigh. “What about that shower you were telling me about?” Kirk grinned, took her hand and walked with her into the bathroom. Vicky stared around her in surprise. “You redecorated, huh?” she finally whispered softly. “Guilty, I’m afraid. Your mother said it was fine and I like my creature comforts.” Vicky walked toward the large shower enclosure. Opening the door, she peered in and saw the multiple openings in the beautifully tiled walls for water to spray out toward the bather. There was a large seat in the farthest corner. “I didn’t know they made things like this.” As she started to close the door, she felt the tugging on the sheet. Since she was wrapped in it, slowly she began to twirl and release her temporary toga. There was no missing the big grin on Kirk’s face as he kept pulling and unraveling. Kirk tossed the sheet behind him a few moments later and pulled Vicky into his arms. He hugged her so tight it was hard to breathe for a second or two. She wasn’t sure, but thought he whispered in her ear. “And I didn’t know there was a woman like you.” Then he was releasing her and opening the door to the shower. Twisting the knobs, it took a short time to adjust the temperature. Vicky spent the time looking at Kirk. She was still surprised that he was attracted to her. He took a step into the shower and she followed him. There wasn’t time to catch her breath as she felt the water coming at her from the different heights and directions. Lifting her hands, she slicked her wet hair back from her face. Blinking her eyes to clear her lashes of the water droplets, she saw that Kirk was watching her very intently. “Is something wrong?” she asked him quietly.
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“Nuttin’ honey,” he jested with her while his hands lifted to cup her breasts. “I just can’t resist temptation.” “I thought we came in here to shower.” Vicky fought to keep the grin off her face, but failed. “I’m going to show you several fun ways to accomplish this usually boring task.” Kirk turned away to squirt some liquid soap in one palm. Slowly he rubbed his hands together, producing some thick lather. Holding them up, palms facing Vicky, he let his eyes drift down the length of her body and then back up. Finally he spoke, his voice sounding quite serious. “Now, the vital question is where to begin?” Vicky acted on impulse and answered the question. She stepped forward, grabbed his wrists and pressed her breasts into his palms. “No more questions. Just show me.” Kirk didn’t wait. With his hands caressing under the pretense of cleansing, his mouth lowered to hers. The kiss was wet and sensual as the water pelted down and all around them. Vicky lifted her hands to catch some of the dripping suds. Without giving a hint of her intentions, she lowered her hands. Moving her head back, she watched Kirk’s face as her one hand curled around his cock. The shocked pleasure on his face was unmistakable, as was the low groan that came from his throat when she started stroking her hand up and down his hardening cock. Kirk’s hands fell away from her breasts. He grabbed the extended shower handle and rinsed the lather from her body. Hoarsely he told her, “Let’s get out of here, honey.” Vicky shook her head and took the nozzle from his hand. “You sit down first,” she told him while she pushed him gently toward the built-in seat. Once he was seated, Vicky gave herself a quick you-can-do-this speech. Just breathe deeply and go! She replaced the showerhead and filled her hand with some of his shampoo. Lifting both hands she began soaping up her hair. Kirk’s eyes dropped almost immediately to her breasts. Purposely she added some extra jiggle a few times before she rinsed out the lather. Squirting some liquid into one palm, she then smeared it around between them both. Stopping once they were covered with soapy lather, she put her hands over her breasts, but didn’t touch them. She waited until Kirk looked up at her. “Oops! I almost forgot that you already took care of me there.” Quickly she put one hand under each arm, covering her breasts while she washed her armpits. Once Kirk started looking a little frustrated, she moved her hands and ran them down to make circles lower and lower on her stomach. His eyes followed the movements all the way to where she stopped with one hand resting on her shaven mound. Vicky glanced down and saw that his cock was hard. It made her feel attractive that she could visually pleasure him this way. “Come over here, sweetheart, and let me wash the rest for you,” Kirk told her softly. Vicky shook her head and slid her hand farther back. This was the first time she’d ever done anything like this before. Sure, she’d masturbated before, but never in front of someone, a lover. Her fingers slipped over her pussy lips and she felt her juices coating them, showing how effective she was so far. As she pressed against the hood of her clitoris, she groaned. Her other hand went out to rest on the nearest shower wall. Half her mind was caught up in the pleasure rising in her body. The other part was wondering how she could further arouse Kirk. Then it dawned on her. In order to more easily reach and stimulate her clit, all she needed to do was to bend forward at the waist. Wiggling her finger, she slipped it onto her clit. The first
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reaction shook her body and she felt her breasts swaying in response. Speeding up the teasing, her hips were flexing forward, demanding more. Suddenly Kirk moved and pulled her forward while he grabbed the shower nozzle. “Lift your foot here and lean into me.” Tense and needing release, Vicky did as directed, resting one foot on the built-in seat. But she wasn’t prepared for the feeling that happened next. Kirk’s fingers caressed and stroked her pussy lips, but soon spread her flesh to reveal her clit. That’s when the water began its torturous seduction. She screamed as her climax shook through her body. It was powerful, and she nearly fell under its force. Kirk’s arms caught her and held her tenderly as the last quiver shook her body. As she became aware of Kirk’s hand caressing over her wet hair, she buried her face in his shoulder. “That didn’t go the way I had planned,” she confided weakly. “Oh. Well I’ll be happy to try again. Perhaps if I spend more time on your pussy, that might do the trick. I think a pretty pussy like this sometimes requires the extra attention.” His hand cupped her mound, sliding sideways, back and forth. “I’ll volunteer for grooming needs. Just thinking about shaving you—” Vicky shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, Kirk. I wanted to pleasure you.” “Oh, really,” Kirk answered. Even though she couldn't see his face, she heard the humor and interest in his voice. God, she told herself silently, if this man wasn’t making love to her, he was making her smile! How was a woman to resist? “Just what had you planned to do?” Kirk prodded her. Vicky didn’t answer right away. Just because she had climaxed first didn’t mean that she couldn't continue. Her body relaxed and she slid from his arms. On her knees, between his legs, she wasted no time in grasping his rod with her hand. She stroked him a few times before she spoke. “I wanted to touch your body, like this.” Holding his cock, she used her other hand to cup his balls. His involuntary body jerk made her smile. She wanted him to enjoy this. Slowly she slid one hand around his sac, and then she lowered her head. Without pause, she took him in her mouth. Squeezing him firmly, she matched her bobbing head to the strokes of her hands. As she tugged gently and stretched the skin of his sac, Kirk groaned, which told her he enjoyed that move. She pressed her thighs together, surprised at how aroused she was becoming. It had never happened before. She glanced up at Kirk, who was leaning his head back against the tile. His hands moved so fast she didn’t see them as he grabbed her arms, pulling her up. A moment or so later, she was straddling him and his cock slid inside her. Everything faded away except the overwhelming sensation of just feeling his hardness inside her again. “Oh, God! Kirk!” she cried out as her body closed around him, squeezing down tightly. His hands helped her move up and down. She flexed her hips back and forth, switching to side-to-side movements. Different moves stimulated her in exciting ways. Once again she’d wanted to pleasure him, but she was the one reaping the reward. Rolling her hips and flexing them at different speeds and angles provided the extra component needed, which when combined with the thrusting cock inside her, brought them both speedily to the edge of the climactic precipice. As if from a distance, she heard Kirk speaking.
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“Honey…God! Vicky, sweetheart, we need to stop. I have to pull out.” Vicky acted spontaneously. She couldn't let him go. What she needed was to feel him fill her with his come. It was earthy and basic. It was risky in some ways, but she didn’t question the health issues. Kirk would have told her…he was that kind of man. And the chance of pregnancy was unlikely at this time of the month. Holding onto him with her arms, she focused on squeezing her cunt muscles. She milked his cock. That’s when she orgasmed and bit the side of his neck. Kirk’s groan was low and primitive. He could force Vicky off him, but he didn’t want to. Right then he wanted to fill her sweet body with his come, his sperm. The idea of being permanently locked with Vicky was not making him crazy like it had with any other woman. This felt right. As she bit his neck, he lost control. His climax slammed throughout his body. With quick, short thrusts he shot hot sperm into her cunt. He held her tightly in his arms while their bodies calmed.
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Chapter Eight Kirk had been watching the clock on his desk since his arrival at the office. At breakfast that morning, the topic was the phone call that never came. Pausing between bites of his cereal, he had broached the subject. “As soon as I see Val this morning I’ll ask why she didn’t call last night.” Vicky shook her head vigorously. “You can’t do that.” She took a bite of his cereal. “Why not? It must have been important for her to call in the first place.” “I’ve been thinking about the phone calls, you know,” Vicky told him seriously while she reached over and stole a piece of the cut-up apple Kirk was also having for breakfast. Kirk shook his head as he took a bite of the cereal. Vicky reached across and wiped a tiny drop of milk from the corner of his mouth. Since she was still sitting on his lap, it had been quite easy to do. As he chewed he pressed a damp kiss to her neck. After he swallowed, he questioned her. “When have I given you time to think?” Vicky had appeared to ponder his words seriously, and then she smiled at him. “I was on the toilet—” Abruptly she stopped as Kirk began tickling her. It hadn't taken him long to discover where her sensitive and vulnerable spots were. “Stop! Stop! Mercy!” Kirk lifted his hand and turned her face toward his. As their eyes met, he spoke softly. “Always.” And then he kissed her. Once they finally parted, both were flushed and breathing hard. Vicky squirmed off Kirk’s lap. She fanned her face as she sat on the chair beside his. Lifting one hand, she grabbed a section of the newspaper, using it to fan her heated face. “Whew! We have to stop this or you won’t make it to work before my mom does.” Vicky said with a loud sigh. “Regretfully, I’ll listen to your voice of reason. Now why can’t I ask Val about not calling me last night?” He took another bite of the cereal. “It’s not like my mother to mix up phone numbers.” “Everybody makes mistakes like that, hon.” He was still leaning toward his idea about asking Val. It seemed like the forward and honest way to do it. For what was most likely the thousandth time, Kirk wished he could have met Vicky at a less busy time for the business. He was torn between sneaking away to spend time with her and making sure he was on-site for any emergencies. “I know. But if you ask her why she didn’t call last night, then she will know that I told you she was going to call.” Vicky picked up his glass of juice and took a long drink. Kirk lifted his coffee cup toward her. “Care for some coffee?” Vicky shook her head. “No thanks.” She picked up two pieces of the apple as she added, “I’m not all that hungry this morning.”
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“Right. Now getting back to the topic at hand. Yes, your mother would know that you had told me that is exactly what you did…uhm do.” Vicky leaned toward him. “But at that time of night, the call came to my bedroom line, so if I told you then you would either have been in my room, or I would have gotten up and gone to your bedroom to tell you.” Kirk shrugged. “True on the first, but it is possible you would do the second.” “Remember how quickly the phone rang in your room? That is how long it would have taken her to redial.” “That was a wrong number.” Kirk paused to take a piece of the apple, chewing it slowly while he thought. “Which makes me wonder why she didn’t call me, like she told you she was going to do.” “Beats me, honey.” Vicky shook her head, tousling her shoulder-length hair. She wiggled the fingers of one hand. “Pass me another bite of apple, please.” Nearly three hours after their shared meal, Kirk smiled as he sat at his desk. They hadn't really solved the little mystery, but hearing Vicky call him “honey,” which was the first time she’d used any kind of endearment, had taken his mind off that problem. At the front door, kissing her goodbye, he’d suggested the plausible excuse. His father had distracted Valentina and the phone call was forgotten. That’s what he would have done, he’d rationalized as he reluctantly left for the office. Glancing to the clock, he was grateful to see it was half past ten. Valentina should be in her new office by now. He would go down and see if she brought the subject up.
***** Vicky was already frustrated and she’d only been here for ten minutes. After Kirk left, she’d been puttering around his kitchen when the phone rang. Her mother insisted she needed to come in at ten to start fittings. What she didn’t like was the fact that her mother had handed her over to Nick to begin the preliminaries for the wedding dress. “Come on, Vicky.” “I am not taking my clothes off in front of you. Besides you always have your assistant take the models’ measurements!” She batted away Nick’s hands, which kept trying to unbutton or pull off some article of her clothing. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before,” Nick joked as he finally got Vicky’s sweater off. “Nick! You are not acting like a gentleman.” “I can be as much of a gentleman as you require, my sweet. I’ll even shower you with roses and candy for every anniversary. More presents than you could open in one day on birthdays and a handmade card on Valentine’s Day.” Vicky stared in disbelief at the handsome blond man. “What happened to the man who proclaimed Valentine’s Day was the invention of women to make men feel guilty? National Suck-up Day? Remember saying those things, Nick? I seem to recall you telling me, and anyone else who would listen, that all this sentimentality was just crap.” Vicky looked at Nick. She couldn't make sense of this total change in his behavior. Sure, they had been engaged for a brief period, but it had only taken two Valentine’s Days to pass before she knew that she couldn't live like that the rest of her life. Once she’d had that
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revelation, it was easier to admit that she wasn’t really in love with Nick after all. Maybe it was fear that had driven her to accept the offer to go out to dinner with him in the first place. Everyone she’d known from high school and college was either married or divorced, and some remarried. Always hanging over her head was the fact that since she was the Valentina Vale’s daughter she would therefore have the most magnificent wedding dress possible. Frustrated with Nick and her thoughts, she reached out and grabbed the tape measure from his hands. “I’ll take my own measurements.” “Now you’re just being childish and ridiculous, Vicky,” Nick argued, reaching for the tape. “Anything I can help with?” Vicky spun around. Yes, that was Kirk’s voice she had just heard. Just seeing how sexy he looked with his suit jacket off, tie askew and top shirt button undone, she was struck anew by the depth of the feelings inside her for a man she hardly knew. The fact that his shirtsleeves were rolled up slightly, revealing his muscular forearms, made her toes curl upward. The reactions her body was having—increased heart rate, rapid breathing, butterflies in her stomach and the sudden fullness and warmth in her pussy—was something she was rapidly coming to associate with just being near Kirk. Nick spoke up, which surprised Vicky. “No thanks. I’m just getting some measurements on Vicky for the show.” Kirk lifted one eyebrow as he looked at Vicky. She couldn't read his face, but decided to go with honesty. “I’m not stripping down so you can take a few lousy measurements. I’ll do it myself, Nick.” “It doesn’t work like that, Vicky, and you know it.” Her former fiancé pushed his blond hair back off his forehead. She noticed that he’d started wearing it longer so it fell forward. He probably thought it made him look sexy. It did not, in her opinion. “What’s your objection, Vicky?” Kirk’s voice sounded steady and not upset. She had rather thought he might be upset finding her alone with her former fiancé. It piqued her that he seemed so nonchalant. Vicky inhaled deeply. “I don’t think Nick should be doing this.” “I’m a little surprised too, sweetheart, but I do what your mother tells me. So take off your shirt and jeans and we’ll get started.” Nick reached for the tape again. Vicky saw Kirk’s expression change. “I don’t think it’s appropriate as my ex-fiancé that you do this,” she told Nick quickly, tilting her chin into the air. Then she saw Kirk’s facial features alter quickly. Obviously he had not known about the fact that Nick was her former fiancé. She saw him tighten his jaw and then he smiled again. “I’ll take the measurements and you can write them down, Ingles. That way they get done and no one suffers.” Vicky turned away to hide the small smile that suddenly curved her lips. She waited for Nick to reply before she offered her two cents to the mix. It only took a few seconds. “The measurements should be taken without clothes on,” Nick protested, all the while he kept shaking his head. Vicky opened her mouth to voice her objections once again. Before she could get the first word out, Kirk grabbed her elbow and pulled her behind the only dressing screen in the area.
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“I’ll call the measurements out to you, Ingles. If you don’t hear me, I’ll be happy to remeasure an area.” Behind the screen, Vicky looked up at Kirk. Opening her mouth again, she still didn’t get a chance to speak. Kirk kissed her quickly and then pressed his finger to her lips. “I couldn't resist and I wasn’t letting Ingles touch you,” he whispered to her quickly, leaning in close so she could hear him clearly. Vicky smiled and handed the tape measure to Kirk. “Just so you know that this is something a woman never wants a man to know.” Pulling her shirt off, she undid her jeans and let them slide to the floor. Today she’d worn a utilitarian white bra and full panties. She knew it wasn’t sexy, but then she wasn’t planning on this happening when she’d gotten dressed after Kirk had left that morning. Kirk leaned down to whisper close to her ear. “Every single inch is beautiful and sexy, and makes me hornier and harder than I’ve ever been in my life.” He straightened back up and called out clearly. “What should I measure first, Nick? It’s a good thing we’re siblings, eh, sis!” The punch Vicky gave his stomach only made him grin. Then he playfully put the tape around her right breast. “Is this the right way, sis?” “Stop that!” Vicky took the tape and placed it in the right position, holding the overlapping ends between her breasts. She tapped the marking with her fingernail. “That is the number, right there.” “Party pooper,” Kirk told her softly before he raised his voice and called out the measurement to Nick. The rest of the measurements were accomplished quickly, as long as she didn’t count the time Kirk slipped his hands under the tape to cup her ass cheeks. His mouth kissed its way along her shoulder before he released her and read the correct number. After Kirk measured her upper arm, neck to waist and waist to floor lengths, Nick told them the last one he needed. “You can do this one by yourself, Vicky.” Kirk shrugged, but asked quickly, “What is it?” “Upper thigh.” Before she could take the tape, Kirk dropped to one knee. With care he placed the paper tape around her thigh. He glanced up, lifting one eyebrow. “That’s good enough,” Vicky murmured. The feel of Kirk’s hands, the lightest of touches from his fingertips, were arousing her. She had hoped Nick would skip this one measurement. Just seeing Kirk had started the reactions inside her. Now the crotch of her panties was damp from her arousal. All he would have to do was raise his hand— Kirk’s fingers ran the length of her crotch, pausing a moment before he called out the last number. At the same time he shouted it, his hand turned and cupped her pussy. Vicky felt him tug on the elastic and then his flesh was on hers. Gasping, she braced her hands on his shoulders. Despite the amazing sweetness of his caress, she felt the need to protest, at least a little. “We shouldn’t—” “I think we should,” he whispered as he slid two fingers between her wet, swollen lips. He wiggled them around inside of her, finally easing them forward and lightly touching her clit.
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“Oh!” Vicky bit her lip as she tried to prevent her cries from escaping while Kirk’s clever fingers tempted her with glimpses of passionate release. A few more seconds and she would not be able to keep from crying out. “There you are, Nicholas. I’m looking for Vicky. Have you seen her?” Vicky froze at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Ouch!” Glancing down, she realized that she had clenched her fingers in Kirk’s hair and was pulling. Quickly she released her hands. At the same time she felt his fingers leave her flesh and then pull her panties back into place. As he stood, she saw his wet fingers. “Wipe them on my shirt,” she whispered to him frantically, bending down to pull her jeans on. While she fastened them, she saw Kirk unbutton his shirt and then rub his fingers on his chest. He must have noticed her confused look because a second later he winked at and whispered, “This way I’ll have the scent of you with me all day.” Quickly he kissed her and then walked back around the screen that had concealed them. “Good morning, Valentina. At breakfast this morning, Vicky said you called me last night. What did you need to discuss?” Vicky plopped down on the nearby chair. She tuned out the voices beyond the screen barrier. In her head she kept hearing Kirk’s words. This way I’ll have the scent of you with me all day. Never had she had any man say such a sensual thing to her before. Nick had made one or two comments after the only time they engaged in oral sex. He was all in favor of her repeating her activities, but he had lots of reasons and comments on why he should not perform oral sex on her. Now Kirk wanted to remember her womanly scent, the odor of her passion, all day. He was choosing her, not the perfumed and artificial woman who got presented to the rest of the world. She wrapped her arms across her stomach. The feeling inside was making her feel nauseated and light-headed. What was going on? This wasn’t how she’d felt with Nick or any other guy she’d dated or been interested in. Living away from here, she’d acknowledged that it wasn’t love she’d felt for Nick. It had been shared interests and propinquity, which she had learned from a therapist she saw a few times. Two people who spend a lot of time together can often confuse their feelings for love. What she felt right now was raw and painful. It was joyful and ecstatic as well. Thinking about going back home was tearing her up inside. She knew she’d miss her mother, but it was the thought of leaving Kirk that was making her crazy. No, it was more than that. Sitting alone, she imagined herself back in her apartment and going about her daily life. Suddenly it was so empty and alone that she started to cry. She tuned out the voices a few feet away, trying to be quiet and unheard.
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Chapter Nine Kirk smiled at Valentina while he waited for her to answer. Asking about the previous night’s phone call this way hopefully wouldn’t arouse her curiosity. Or at least he hoped so. He’d be happy to have everything out in the open, but he was pretty sure that Vicky wasn’t ready yet. Protecting her heart and conceding to her wishes were paramount. He had been stunned last night as he sat waiting for Valentina to call him. Could he be in love with his stepsister? At first he’d acknowledged the powerful attraction he felt for her. Discovering she was experiencing the same had brought together dynamite and C-4 plastic explosive! Sex with Vicky was better than he had ever experienced before. She wasn’t the typical model-thin woman that he had dated in the past. But from the first moment he’d seen her, the pull to be near her was there. The need to be inside her grew with each passing encounter. Now that he had been deep within her body, feeling her muscles tightly enclosing his cock, he wasn’t going to be able to let her return home. Thinking about that as he sat on the bed, he realized that it was more than the sex. There was the fun they had when they weren’t making love. And while they had not had much time together so far, he was beginning to doubt that he would be able to let her leave. If she did go, there was a good chance that he was going to follow her. She’d have to tell him face to face that she didn’t want him or love him. That was when it hit him. He loved her. Sure, most people would say it could only be lust, but something told him this had all the right ingredients to work. All he had to do was convince Vicky. He had little doubt she was experiencing the lust right now. Given time, he’d prove his love to her. “You know, Kirk, I’ve completely forgotten what it was. I blame your father, darling. He can be quite persuasive.” Kirk had to shake his head as Val’s voice pulled him back to the present and away from his memories. Kirk cleared his throat as well as his mind, especially after what Valentina had just confided. He guessed it was typical that kids don’t really want to hear or think about their parent having sex. Valentina smiled, patting his cheek as she walked by him. “So Vicky told you last night I’d be calling.” Kirk turned slowly to face Valentina. She was either deliberately forgetting what he’d just told her, or she was trying to trip him up. He remembered Vicky’s protests about her mother rarely making mistakes. Shaking his head negatively, he replied. “Not last night, Val. She was already in bed and when she told me this morning, I realized that I had been sound asleep at the time of the call.” Kirk saw Valentina smile at him as she stepped closer to the screen. “You boys run along. I’ve got some things to discuss with my daughter. We’ll catch up later, Nick. Vicky can try on some of the mock-up designs we have and give us an idea of where to go for the final designs. Ta-ta.” 169
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Kirk watched his stepmother disappear around the screen. Feeling frustrated, he turned to leave. Seeing the irritated, perturbed and thwarted look on Ingles’ face brightened his spirits immediately, though. He returned to his office with a spring in his step.
***** Vicky looked up as her mother stepped around the screen. Quickly she tried to rub the tears from her cheeks. Of course she knew she looked suspicious. She was sitting behind a screen, partially dressed and crying. This was not the look of a successful, modern woman. “Hi, Mom.” “Who makes my baby cry? Tell me his name and I’ll have him drawn and quartered.” Vicky stood and let her mother hug her. She planned on thanking her mom and denying anything was wrong, when the dam broke. A second later, more tears were running over her cheeks. A few sniffles and hiccups passed before Vicky could talk. “It’s not that, Mother. I’m fine. It’s probably just jet lag. I’ll be fine for your big show.” Valentina put her hands on either side of her daughter’s face. “I don’t give a damn about the show. At this point it could go on without me. All I want is your happiness, my darling daughter. I may be newly married, Victoria, but I will always be your mama.” A second later both women were crying. It took some time, but eventually they left the screened area. Valentina insisted on Vicky joining her for lunch at noon. Vicky agreed and said she’d browse through the store until then to give her mother time to work. Since her mother was watching her leave, she got on the elevator and pushed the “lobby” button. As soon as the door opened, she pushed the number that would take her up to Kirk’s office. As soon as the doors opened, Vicky walked quickly through the hallways until she reached Kirk’s. The secretary’s desk was empty and she saw that his office door was cracked open slightly. Quickly she walked over, pushing open the door. “We can’t do—” “Vicky! What a surprise! Look, Dad, it’s Vicky!” Vicky froze as she realized how close she had just come to revealing everything that was going on between Kirk and herself. This morning, while taking their time saying a leisurely goodbye, he had suggested they lock the office door and indulge in a “quickie” in between bites of sandwiches that he’d order in advance. The next words out of her mouth, if Kirk had not interrupted, would have been “our quickie picnic.” She doubted that her new stepfather could easily see through any explanations they might make following a statement like that. It had been lucky that Kirk had been able to cut her off before she’d ruined— Good Lord! What did she even have to ruin in the first place? What were she and Kirk doing? How could a relationship like this go on, proceed or have any kind of future? Crap! When did she start thinking of the future? She frowned as all these crazy thoughts kept crashing through her brain. No way was she made for dealing with this kind of stress. “Hello, Vicky! I stopped in to see my son.” Mark crossed the room, clasped his hands around her upper arms and lightly kissed her cheek. “And I get the bonus of seeing my lovely new daughter. What more could a man ask for?” “That’s sweet of you to say so, Mr. Magnuson…uhm…Mark.”
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Mark smiled. “Call me Mark, Vicky. And hopefully one day you’ll feel comfortable enough to call me dad.” Vicky blinked quickly to hold back the unexpected start of tears to her eyes. There had never been a “dad” in her life. As she grew up, her mother had dated now and then, but her business had always come second in her life, after Vicky, which rarely left much free time to date. Then when she’d started college, her mother moved her business and expansion to the forefront. That’s why Valentina had been in Venice in the first place. She’d gone there to study the style and elegance represented in the architecture and the museums of the beautiful city. Fate had stepped in, though, and now Vicky had a stepfather. “Don’t push it, Vicky. Dad will still love you.” Vicky turned to smile at Kirk, but Mark’s next words caught her by surprise, as they supposedly did to her lover, if his expression accurately mirrored his thoughts and emotions. “That’s right, Vicky. Both Kirk and I will love you no matter what you call us.” Kirk love her? Wait, that wasn’t even decent grammar. But her brain was rattled by what Mark had just said. Love? No way…right? Vicky jerked her gaze away from Kirk, feeling the heated flush steal across her cheeks. Had she seen the same shock in his eyes, or perhaps it had been denial at his father’s words? Maybe she had thought the word in her head, or whispered it in her soul, but hearing it spoken out loud in conjunction with Kirk’s name had taken her by surprise. Pressing her hand to her chest, she tried to slow her breathing. She could feel herself hyperventilating and if she didn’t stop it soon, she’d be looking up at her new stepfamily from the floor. “My spies were correct, I see.” Valentina spoke from the doorway to the office. Stepping into the room, she crossed to her husband and kissed his cheek. “Hi, Mom,” Vicky whispered, hoping her mother wouldn't notice that she was breathing too fast. But of course, that was foolish, because her mother had dealt with this too many times in the past to not catch the symptoms. “Uh oh.” Valentina grabbed her daughter’s arm and dragged her toward the sofa. “Sit down, Vicky!”
***** Love! What was his father saying? Kirk saw Vicky staring at him, and she looked as shocked as he did. Who had said anything about love? Well, sure he had been trying the word out in his head a few times, seeing how it felt, and so on. But he hadn't spoken it out loud. He was having the best time of his life with Vicky, but love? Holy shit! Was he ready to be in love? Then he saw the flush moving up Vicky’s neck and across her cheeks. It gave her skin the softest color of pink and it reminded him of a similar heated color. Except that the previous time Vicky had been naked and he had seen the color rising from her breasts. Promptly he had kissed his way from her blushing cheeks down to her taut nipples. Kirk shook his head to clear it and stop the arousal rising in his body. Suddenly he realized that Valentina was pushing Vicky toward the leather sofa in his office. He frowned as he noted that the flush was gone and now Vicky was almost white. Before he could move a step, though, he saw Valentina shoving Vicky toward the sofa.
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“Hey!” he shouted angrily. Why in the world was her mother pushing her around like that? Had he missed something? Like slow motion he saw Vicky start to crumple like a crushed paper cup. She’d be on the floor if it had not been for Valentina’s last second hard push toward the couch. Taking a step forward, he heard his stepmother speak to his father. “It’s too late to put her head between her knees, Mark. Help me get her turned and I’ll prop her feet on the cushions or just lift them myself.” Valentina quickly saw she couldn't get Vicky’s feet very high, so she leaned over the arm of the sofa and held her daughter’s feet. “What’s wrong? Let me hold her feet, darling,” Mark took Vicky’s feet. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Valentina told her husband. She moved to kneel at Vicky’s head and fanned her daughter with her hand. Kirk crossed and watched the interchange. “What’s wrong with her?” Valentina turned and smiled up at him. “She’s only passed out. She should be fine in a few minutes. I can’t imagine what happened. She hasn’t done this since high school.” Kirk had a damned good idea as to what had just happened. His father’s unfortunate words must have affected her as much as they had him. The question remained whether she’d thought he was in love with her, or she was caught off guard by her own emotions. God! Could this situation get any more complicated? “Oh shit!” Kirk realized that it was Vicky who had spoken. Before he could reply or ask how she was, Valentina was speaking to her daughter. “It’s all right, Vicky. Nothing got broken, on you or other wise.” Vicky laughed. “That’s good, anyway. Thanks for holding my feet up, Mark.” “My pleasure, Vicky.” “I’ll get up now, Mom.” “No, you will not. I want you to stay here with your feet up. I’ll order us some lunch.” “I’d be happy to run out and bring something back for all of us. We could have a picnic,” Mark offered quickly. “That would work, darling.” Kirk saw his father turn to look at him. He had no doubt what his father was about to say. “Why don’t you come with me, son?” Yup, he was right. Worry for Vicky warred inside him against going with his dad. Leaving for lunch wouldn't allow for either parent to question…anything. Part of his head was telling him everything was going to be fine and to just keep his mouth shut. “I have a better idea, Mark.” Valentina stood and grabbed Kirk’s hand. She tugged until he acceded. “You sit on the sofa and hold Vicky’s feet.” Less than five minutes later his office door closed, leaving Vicky and him alone. Her shoeless feet rested on a small cushion atop Kirk’s lap, which Valentina had placed there right before she’d left with her husband. Looking at her toes, he noticed she had a golden toe ring on her third toe, as well as a gold chain around her ankle. Instead of keeping his hands to himself, he lightly traced his finger along the chain. He stopped when Vicky wiggled her toes. He turned
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his head to look at her. He wasn’t surprised that she was watching him because that was what he’d been struggling not to do ever since Valentina had pushed him onto the sofa. “What happened to you?” he asked a moment later, shifting on the sofa to see her more easily. Both hands clasped her feet, one in each. “I hyperventilated and passed out. It doesn’t happen often, really. I didn’t do it when Nick and I broke up.” She stopped quickly and her smile faded. “When was the last time you actually hit the dirt?”
***** Vicky heard Kirk’s soft voice asking her the question, but she was really focused on the way his thumbs were caressing the soles of her feet. If his intention was to seduce her, he could not have chosen a more inappropriate place to start, considering they were in his office and waiting for their parents to return. “I passed out at college one time. Uhm…but my mother doesn’t know about that one. I can’t imagine what caused it today. It was probably just a fluke.” Vicky looked around the room, anywhere but at Kirk. She’d never been very good at lying. “I’m probably hungry.” A second later she realized it was stupid to say that. Now she was recalling that she had not eaten much at breakfast. And the way Kirk’s hands were caressing their way around her ankles and moving slowly up her calves told her that he was most likely remembering the morning meal as well. Kirk was going to have cereal, having been dressed for the office already. Vicky had strolled out a few minutes later, her hair wet and trailing down her back. She had made herself some toast and then started digging through the refrigerator for some jelly or marmalade. Finally, she came to the table with four open jars and her one piece of toast. She had ignored his snort of disdain as she placed a small amount of each type on one corner of her toast. Seeing his doubting look, she had smiled. “I couldn't make up my mind. This way I can sample them all.” Kirk had stood and walked around the table. Without a word, he had pulled Vicky from her chair. Gently he had edged her onto the table. When her robe parted, he had pushed it off her shoulders. He then dipped the spoon into the orange marmalade first. In disbelief, Vicky watched as he had dripped some of the gooey stuff on her right nipple. “Hey! I just took a shower,” she had protested weakly. Kirk had winked as he promised her, “I’ll clean it up.” After that she hadn’t protested when he pushed her back onto the table. Soon her left nipple had been encircled with purple jelly. She was so aroused that it was hard to sit still on the table. Kirk had leaned over and his tongue began lapping at her right nipple. With a mix of quick short licks and long, slow pulls he had completely removed all traces of the sugary goop. A moment later, he dropped a spoonful of blackberry jam and filled her belly button. She had giggled as he sampled it with his finger first. Yet none of this had prepared her for the strawberry preserves he had spread with his finger along her pussy lips. When his tongue had reached her clit, even though there was no more fruit, Kirk had showed her just how sweet a shared breakfast could be. Her cries had echoed around the room as her orgasm crashed through her. Afterwards, she had let him pull her limp body from the table and he had held her on his lap. A few bites of cereal and apple 173
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were all she had ended up eating after all, while they discussed her mother’s odd phone call the previous night. After a leisurely kiss at the door, she had gone back to bed for a while. Kirk’s voice drew her out of her pleasant recollections. “I was looking forward to our picnic and making love on this sofa. Then every time I glanced over this way I’d remember how it was between the two of us.” Vicky’s eyelids drifted shut. His hands were now at the back of her knees, caressing and stroking her gently. It felt incredibly sensual and she was already so tensely aroused that if he slid his hand upward and touched her— A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. The door swung open and her mother’s former secretary, Denise, looked around the edge. It was obvious she was taken by surprise by the scene she was presented with. Kirk spoke first. “Hello, Denise. Did you need something?” Denise smiled, looking from her new boss to Vicky. “Hmm. Feet elevated can only mean one thing.” Vicky laughed. “You’ve been working here too long.” “Anyway, Nick Ingles just called. He’s looking for you.” Denise pointed directly at Vicky. “I told him that I hadn't seen you yet. Do you want me to call him back?” Kirk shook his head negatively. “No. In fact, you can take off and enjoy a long noon break today. Our folks are coming back with lunch.” Denise grinned. “I’ll forward the phones to the switchboard then. Thanks.” Vicky smiled. “You should call Dave and see if he’s free to join you.” She winked at the other woman when she saw her blush. Only after the door had closed behind her, did Kirk begin stroking his fingers along her legs. “Dave? She has a boyfriend?” Kirk asked a moment later. “Dave Fernandez, in accounting. They’ve been dancing around one another for a couple of years, but since Mom got married things have escalated.” “I had no idea. How did you know all this?” Vicky propped herself up on her elbows. “This is really a small little family, my mother’s business. Denise and I, as well as a few other people, exchange emails once in awhile.” “How do you feel now?” Kirk asked softly. “Much better,” Vicky murmured. She pulled one foot away and then the other, feeling the loss of his warm hands instantly. Squirming around on the couch, she came up on her knees. As she leaned toward him, her hands rested upon his shoulders. It felt absolutely necessary to kiss him right now. With his lips pressing against hers, his hands encircled her waist. Slowly Kirk pulled her down, so she was sprawled across his lap. As his hand cupped one breast, Vicky pushed herself more fully into his grasp. Kirk lowered his hand until he cupped her crotch. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of the day.” Vicky grinned, kissing his lips before she replied. “I was looking forward to our quickie picnic. I do hope my mother doesn’t suggest we all have dinner together again.” “We need to come up with a plausible excuse.” Vicky moaned as Kirk’s hand stroked over her pussy, resting between her thighs. “Two excuses so they won’t suspect anything.” 174
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“I’ll say I’m meeting a friend for drinks at a sports bar,” Kirk suggested. “Any ideas for your excuse?” Vicky moved her hand to cover his nipple. Feeling its tautness, she began teasing it with her fingertip. “I doubt they’d believe I’m going to a sports bar, so maybe I’ll have a headache.” “You could say you still feel a little dizzy,” Kirk offered helpfully. Vicky squirmed as he moved his hand slightly. “Nope. If I do that, mom will either want to drag me off to a doctor or insist on spending the night to make sure I’m okay.” “We’ll figure something out…in a minute or two.” Kirk proceeded to show her how sweet he could make love to her with just his hand. Vicky grinned as her zipper slid down. His fingers curved over her mound. Her wetness eased his passage and soon one finger was sliding all over her clit. Each time he found a sensitive place, he would move away from it. Vicky could feel her passion rising. She thrust her hips upward. “Patience, Vicky.” Kirk pulled his hand away and Vicky felt bereft until she saw his hands pushing her shirt up. Her bra was pulled down and it pushed her breasts upward, as an offering. “Good things come to patient girls. Naughty things to wild women.” Ever so lightly, Kirk started to tease and coax her nipples into hard, tight and amazingly long nubs of flesh. Leaning over slightly, he blew air over them. “Now that is a pretty picture. Bad girl on the office couch. Is she about to be ravished by her boss?” He squeezed one breast and then began bouncing it. “Does he have his evil way with her, planting his sperm so high inside her tender and vulnerable cunt that she just might end up in trouble?” “Oh God!” Vicky groaned, so intensely turned on it shocked her. She gasped loudly. “Naughty sounds like more fun.” Kirk grinned. “Perhaps I’ll have to tie you up tonight and show you how misbehavior is treated.” Kirk lowered his hand, resuming the maddening rubbing of her clit. Slowly he moved two fingers inside her once again. Vicky sighed and moved her hips up, increasing the friction to her sensitive flesh. “Ahh.” Kirk increased the speed with which he thrust his fingers in and out of her body. Then he moved his super slick fingers back to her clit. Vicky bit down on her finger as her orgasm shook her body. Over and over she jerked her hips in uncontrollable response. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. Kirk’s hand was still inside her pants and pressed against her pussy. Kirk was smiling down at her. “That was beautiful,” he told her softly. “What? Me flopping about like a gasping fish?” “That is not what I saw. I saw a beautiful woman not afraid of her sensuality and enjoying an orgasm at the hands of her lover. Her belly heaved with the spasms deep inside. Her breasts jiggled and swayed. And I want to be inside you so badly it aches!” “Oh, Kirk! I’m sorry. Let me—” Kirk’s hand on her pussy prevented her from moving, though. “Not now, sweetheart. Just lay here for a few more minutes and let me savor the moment.” “Maybe I will be the one doing the tying up tonight.” “God, woman, you’re killing me here!”
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Chapter Ten Backstage for a fashion show, no matter what day it was scheduled for, was usually a madhouse. The fact that it was Valentine’s Day, along with all the hype regarding the new lower-priced gowns, was netting them a lot of publicity. The excitement seemed electric and Kirk found Vicky sitting on a box in a quiet corner, with her head between her knees. She glanced up at him once and then back down. “I can’t do it.” “Of course you can do this, sweetheart. All you have to do is walk down the runway, turn around and come back.” Stroking his hand over her hair, he tried to console her. “You did great in the rehearsal yesterday.” Vicky glared up at him. “I’d had two glasses of wine. I was relaxed.” “No, you didn’t have that much. I was watching you.” “Nosy! Busy body!” she accused, but there wasn’t any malice in her tone. “I just wish Nick wasn’t playing the damned groom for the finale.” “It’s all fake, Vicky. You are only saying some words in front of an actor playing the minister. In less than five minutes it will be all over and then we’re off to the reception.” Vicky stared up at Kirk. How could she tell him that she wished it wasn’t a fake and that he was the groom? Would he run for the hills? Slowly she sat up straight. For the last seven days, Kirk had given her a present every day, and always at a different time. Neither of them had spoken the “L” word yet, but she was in love with him. There were no more doubts in her mind. She remembered the morning, one week ago, that Kirk had rushed off to work, leaving her alone in his bed. Rolling over, she’d felt paper crumple beneath her. Shifting about, she found a pink envelope. Her name was written on it and her first thought was that it might be a Valentine’s Day card. Her fingers felt around first and noticed the bump inside. Quickly she tore open the envelope. There was not a card, but a small, bright red enameled heart fell out when she shook the envelope. It was a small lapel pin. Immediately after her shower she put it on and wore it to the office. The next day she’d met Kirk for lunch at a trendy restaurant close to work. Since he’d made reservations, they had a nice booth and sat side by side. Taking a sip of the ice water while Kirk ordered a beer, she anxiously waited for him to turn her way. Her words spilled out once he did. “I’m screwed.” Kirk’s grin was instantaneous. “I thought that was my job.” “Eek!” she screeched a second later as his hand came up her thigh. “Naughty girl! You’ve got on stockings.” Kirk lightly slid his fingers along the top edge of the nylons, slipping under the lace and elastic garter. Hearing him call her “naughty” made her feel hot and tingly, especially in the spot where his hand seemed intent on reaching.
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“I shouldn’t have worn a skirt,” she said lamely while she tried to focus on something, anything, other than the pursuit of his hand. “I’m not complaining,” he assured her. “Now why are you screwed?” “I ran out of excuses to avoid meeting our parents for dinner.” Kirk shrugged. “I’ll call Dad and tell him I canceled my plans and I’ll join them after all.” He paused and took a sip of the beer the waiter had just delivered. “It gets worse.” Vicky shook her head while she spread her thighs to allow his hand to slide between them, and hopefully higher. “My mother wants to fix me up on a date.” Kirk’s hand stopped immediately. “With who?” “She didn’t say. I was hoping you could help me come up with some kind of good excuse to get out of it.” All she wanted was to spend her evenings and nights with Kirk. “I enjoy going to dinner with your dad and my mom, but I know I’d slip up in front of them.” “What are you planning on wearing tonight?” Kirk asked. For a moment, she was a little perturbed that he wasn’t more upset, or that he wasn’t insisting they tell their parents. He appeared to be accepting the fact she might be going on a date with another man almost laconically. Logically, she told herself, I could tell them. But she didn’t want to ruin things between them, or their parents. Shrugging, she answered him. “That high-necked black dress.” “Good choice. Where are you going?” “I don’t know yet. Mom didn’t say.” Kirk leaned closer and kissed her cheek. “I’ll find out and drop in a few minutes after you arrive.” His hand slipped up a little higher. “What the hell?” Vicky grinned at his expression. “Surprise! I took my panties off before we left work.” “I’m going to start renting hotel rooms for lunch instead of reserving tables at good restaurants.” Vicky made a low purring noise in her throat. “I wouldn’t object to that idea. Order us room service at the same time. Then you could properly take care of your naughty girl.” She giggled her way through most of the lunch. He’d had her scoot away on the bench when they were done eating and then lifted her left foot. His fingers lightly moving over her skin soon had the usual sensual shivers shooting through her body. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. The previous night in bed, he had removed her ankle bracelet under the excuse of massaging lotion into her skin after a shower. She’d actually forgotten that she had not put it back on until now. Kirk must have found the anklet and brought it along. “Okay, done,” he announced, sliding off his seat, having already paid the bill. He held his hand out to her. Taking a deep breath to calm her aroused senses, Vicky slid to the edge of the booth bench as well. She lifted her leg to glance at her anklet and stopped. This one looked the same, except as she twisted her ankle she saw the small golden heart woven in the links. Quickly she told herself not to read too much into this gift. A heart was a decorative item in lots of different jewelry, and the fact it was six days before Valentine’s Day was probably a fluke. She’d kissed his cheek circumspectly, but whispered in his ear. “Thank you. Tonight I’ll show you how nice my present is.”
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***** “Vicky!” Hearing Denise yelling her name returned her to the present, Kirk and the imminent fashion show. As Denise ran toward them, Vicky didn’t need to ask what the other woman wanted. Most likely her mother had given her former secretary the job of keeping an eye on her daughter for the duration of the show. “No more running, sweetheart,” Kirk murmured as his new personal assistant stopped a few feet away. “Come on, Vicky. I’ve got some paper sacks for you to blow into. We’re all set!” “No reprieve, honey.” Kirk smiled as he reminded her. “I’ll make sure and wave so you can focus on me. Just look right at me and everything will be fine.” Vicky looked back over her shoulder at Kirk as Denise dragged her away. Staring at Kirk during the show would help, unless he looked horrified when he saw her in a wedding dress. So far Kirk had been filling her life with joy and love. What if he suddenly changed? What if seeing her in the “commitment” dress caused him to turn tail and run? Combining the nervousness she felt over leaving Kirk plus her feelings for him, she was confused whether the little gifts he gave her really meant something or had they just been the kind of things a wealthy man gave to the woman he was— Her mind stumbled over the possible truth. Perhaps she was his “mistress” and all he was doing was pampering her. NO! She was not doing any more of this crazy talk. Tonight, after the show, she resolved to settle their relationship, if that’s what this was. What better night than Valentine’s to bring it to a climax, just not in bed? After all, she had a train to catch back home tonight.
***** Kirk returned to his office. He changed into a new, expensive suit he’d purchased for today. The tie was the palest of pinks, which the designer had insisted was the perfect—no, the only—choice for a situation like this. Shaking his head, he combed his hair. He probably should have gotten the haircut last week instead of yesterday. Now he looked like the kid who’d just come from the barbershop. Frustrated, he turned away from the mirror. Knock. Knock. Kirk looked over his shoulder as he called out, “Come in.” “Hello, son. Wow! Don’t you look dapper! Val will probably see you and say I should have gotten a new suit.” “You have so many suits, Dad, I’m sure she can’t remember which ones you’ve worn before. All you need is a new tie.” Reaching into the shopping bag, he tossed his father a small box. Grinning, Mark opened it. Slowly he pulled out a tie that matched Kirk’s. “Are we going for the ‘twin’ look?” Kirk turned from the mirror. “I need your help, Dad. All my life it’s always been you and me. There was nothing that I couldn't talk over with you.”
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Mark had pulled his tie off and paused after putting the new one beneath the collar of his pristine white shirt. “That’s something I’ve always admired…uhm, cherished I guess, about being your father. Is something wrong?” “I hope you won’t think so, because I need your help.” Kirk watched as his father placed the tie perfectly without looking in a mirror. “Anything, son, except robbing the bank and killing the loan officer.” Kirk laughed at his father. “Well, you know how Valentina planned to end the show today?” “With Vicky and Ingles doing the wedding vows?” “Yeah. I need you to help me snatch Ingles and tie him up before that.” “You want it to look like Vicky got stood up? Trust me, Kirk, that would not be a wise idea.” “I’m going to be the groom,” Kirk told his father, holding his gaze. “Does Vicky or Val know about this?” Mark paused in knotting his tie. “Nothing can upset a gal quicker than a last minute change in her wedding plans.” “I want to ask her to marry me. I figure if she’s already in the dress and in front of a crowd, it will be harder for her to turn me down.” Kirk watched his father’s face, waiting and looking for any sign that his father had been aware of his feelings for Vicky. Mark finished with his tie, and then lowered his hands. “Looks like Valentina’s right after all. Well, I might as well let you in on her secret plans.” Kirk’s eyes opened wide as his father started to speak—
***** “Stop fretting, Vicky! You only have two outfits, the two lingerie sets and then the finale.” Valentina smiled at her daughter, who was blowing into the paper bag. Everything was going perfectly so far. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box. “To maintain the illusion, darling, I want you to wear this.” Vicky looked at the old-style ring box and shook her head. Her “no” was muffled by the sack. “Yes, Victoria.” Without pause, Val grabbed her daughter’s left hand. Quickly she flicked open the box and removed the ring. She slipped the diamond onto Vicky’s ring finger. “Please, wear it for me.” “Mom!” “Hush and keep breathing. I had it redone slightly and I want you to keep it.” “But it was Grandmother’s engagement ring,” Vicky said breathily, in between blowing in and out of the sack. “Please, Vicky, no arguments. I want you to have this, and just for today wear it on that finger. It will look wonderful with those new diamond earrings you bought yourself. Now, I’ll let Denise help you get ready.”
*****
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As soon as Valentina left, Vicky lowered the sack. She stared at the ring, amazed at how pretty it was. Denise’s voice distracted her. “Why does your mother think you bought those earrings? I thought you were going to tell her two days ago, when you had lunch.” “I chickened out. She was with Mark when she first noticed them and I couldn't think of how to tell them together.” “Those were present number three, right?” Denise asked, picking up a brush to start working on Vicky’s hair. After the bag-breathing woman nodded, she continued. “The roses were the next day, followed by the silly monkey with the pink pillow.” Vicky lowered the small sack. “The monkey with the big red butt. Kirk told me it is a Mandrill baboon.” Denise giggled. “It was Dave that helped him with gift number six.” “Well, tell him thank you very much, but what am I to do with a puppy? It obviously can’t travel home with me on the train.” “You could stay here, Vicky. Your mother would be ecstatic if you moved back home.” “I know, but what if things don’t work out—” “Hush! Bite your tongue. I’m sure he really cares for you.” “I love him, but what if he is just…you know, sowing the wild oats?” Vicky lifted the bag and started breathing quickly in and out again. Denise shook her head. “Stop that right now. Breathe slowly. Focus, and tell me what today’s gift was.” “I got an expensive piece of chocolate. It was quite tasty,” Vicky answered quickly, and then resumed breathing into the bag. “At least it wasn’t a whole box. If you’re like me, I’d feel the need to eat it all so he’d know I appreciated the gift.” “Me too, and I saved the gold box.” Both women laughed and Vicky soon calmed down enough to finish her makeup and hair. There was just enough time to slip on the first outfit, which was a pretty peach-colored dress. There were comfortable shoes and purse, along with a beautiful sweater to make a casual ensemble perfect for travel, sightseeing or shopping. On her first trip down the runway, Vicky saw Kirk standing at the back of the room. He made an elaborate show of waving his arms and she had to fight the urge to grin and laugh. Feeling much more relaxed she went back to change into the next set.
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Chapter Eleven Kirk was glad when Vicky made it all the down the runway and then back behind the side curtain without mishap. She only had two more trips before the finale and the wedding dress. He was still reeling to find out that both their parents had suspected about a relationship between their children for quite some time, but his father refused to say for just how long. Now he just had to convince her not to board the train that would take her west and away from him. It was scheduled to depart at ten. At least now she wouldn't have to face the guy chosen for her blind date— Frowning, Kirk realized that if Valentina knew that Vicky and he were involved, why had she set her daughter up on a date with another guy in the first place? He suddenly had the distinctly unpleasant impression that his stepmother’s plan was to make him jealous! Maybe Valentina’s goal was to spur him to action. Well, it worked. Even if he had to follow her to the station and jump on the train with her, he wasn’t letting her leave. Or at least he was determined that they define their relationship. God! He sounded like a wimp just then. Still, wasn’t that what the modern woman wanted…a man interested in commitment? Perhaps the alpha male truly was a fossil? Not that he’d ever stopped to consider it, but maybe he was one himself. He’d always strived to be the best in school, sports and business. His father had set an excellent example of how to succeed and excel in the real world without stepping on people or trying to cheat and screw others. Besides loving him, he respected his dad. When his father had returned from the short business trip to Venice, Kirk could immediately tell something was different. Two days later he had arrived home to find his dad waiting for him. But he wasn’t alone. The first time he saw Valentina he’d been struck by her smile. Then he’d noticed the way the two of them were constantly looking at one another. By the time they got the courage up to tell him, he’d already guessed what they were going to announce. Since they were from a different generation, they didn’t want to just “shack up.” They planned a quick wedding. Hell! He could still recall his anger at learning Valentina’s daughter wouldn't be flying home to be with her mother. After two years, he figured she should be over her fears. Meeting her now, he understood a little better. Hopefully, they would work on getting her past the fears so they could enjoy traveling. Even his dad had suggested the four of them take a trip together. Kirk paused as he realized that his father had made that suggestion last week. Most likely that meant he knew about his son and stepdaughter’s relationship. It was doubtful he would have brought it up otherwise. As soon as he made it through today, he and Vicky would pin their parents down and find out just how long they suspected before they knew the truth. Vicky was probably going to be as surprised as he was. He acknowledged that if the truth had come out sooner, no doubt their “alone time” would have greatly diminished. Clapping caught his attention and he looked up. He had missed Vicky’s second outfit and she was now coming down the runway in the sexy merry widow lingerie outfit, complete with
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a trailing veil with headpiece. He hadn't realized how sexy this whole underwear ensemble was going to be. Moving away from the wall, he waited until she began her return. He had about fifteen minutes to get in position.
***** “Keep breathing, Vicky, only one more to go. Just be glad you aren’t flying.” Vicky glared at Denise. “You’re being helpful,” she said sarcastically, which was muffled by the sack and the breathing. “Come on, darling.” Her mother sailed around the corner. “Bring your sack because we are going out to let Henri and Jean Paul perform their magic on you. I’ve got the dress, shoes and veil out there already.” Vicky moaned but she stood to follow her mother. She knew this bout of hyperventilation and nerves was only partially due to the fashion show. What was bothering her most was that she was going to board a train late tonight and it was looking like Kirk was planning on letting her go. Frowning, she took a seat to have her makeup done. Lowering the sack, she focused on breathing calmly and deeply. It was hard to acknowledge that it was partly her fault. There was no reason that she couldn’t have brought the subject up. These were modern times and she was an empowered woman, right? She’d had a couple of opportunities to discuss a future between them or not. After plenty of thinking, and stewing on her own, she knew what she wanted. Time. That is precisely what they needed to explore whether what they had was real and had a future, or if it was just lust. If it was only sexual heat, then things would be doomed. That seemed to be how a lot of relationships like this turned out. Still she knew how she felt…right? Vicky focused on the face in the mirror. She’d been in a whirlwind of emotion since she’d gotten home. Before Kirk entered her life, she had definitely suffered Valentine Day burnout to the nth degree. Her past had provided the initial wounding, but she had done nothing to stop the growing cynicism. Granted, it would not have been easy, but she possibly could have turned the downward spiral around. The last two years, with the coincidence of her ended engagement to Nick and her being in the air during the morning hours of 9/11, had been spent hardening her heart and developing a cynical shell to deal with anything romantic. She had fibbed when her mother had asked if she’d been dating since her move. She’d started buying GQ so she could create interesting men to tell her mother. By her phones she kept a list of names, careers and hobbies she could interchange to makeup her “date.” Kirk had found the way inside her barriers and she wasn’t even sure how he did it, or when his campaign had started. But somehow, some way, he had slipped inside her castle walls. Her body had yielded first, and foolishly she had assumed that was all it would be. She was modern and she could be like a man, enjoy a one-night stand. Or a two-week stand? Suddenly Henri was turning her chair away from the mirror. She closed her eyes while he worked his magic, turning her into a painted doll. Fighting a smile, she wondered if Kirk would even recognize her with all this stuff on her face. Most of their time together she’d skipped makeup completely, or just used some lipstick or blush. She’d do whatever her mother wanted,
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though. Since her arrival—even before—Vicky had been fighting the feelings of guilt she felt for not flying home for the wedding. She’d copped out and thought only of herself, not her mother. Now she might be risking the very happiness of her mother’s marriage. If necessary, she’d claim that she had seduced Kirk. The last thing she wanted was for her mother and Kirk’s father to fight. Maybe it was convoluted thinking, but she was running out of ideas. “Time for hair, Vicky.” Vicky stood without looking in the mirror and walked with Denise to the hair artist, Jean Paul. Again she closed her eyes, not really wanting to see herself transformed. When the snipping and clicking of scissors sounded in her ears, she reconsidered her easy capitulation. Focusing on her breathing, she blotted out all her worrisome thoughts. Deciding to copy Scarlet O’Hara, she would worry about all of this tomorrow. Or tonight, depending on what caused the biggest bombshell.
***** “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we present the beautiful bride of Valentine’s Day!” Vicky heard the applause beginning as she stepped from behind the curtain. The facial veil was pulled back so her head was visible. Walking slowly, she saw people standing and continuing to applaud. Smiling, she was glad for her mother. This success would be quite a boon to her mother’s business. For that reason alone she would go through the fake wedding with Nick. And tonight, alone on the train, she could replay it in her mind, changing the groom’s face to Kirk’s. Turning at the far end of the runway, she started toward the stage. Since she was smiling, looking at the people, it took her a few seconds to realize that the stage had been changed. There was now a large heart-shaped trellis covered in roses and a small dais in front of it. In fact, it resembled a sketch she’d been fooling around with one day at her mother’s worktable. “What is that, Vicky?” Surprised at being caught, she had tried to hide the drawing. Her mother was too quick and had pulled it from beneath her arm. “That’s lovely, sweetheart.” Vicky had watched as her mother’s eyes roamed over her drawing. There was a traditional bride and groom, and behind them was a heart-shaped rose trellis. “I was just fooling around, trying out ideas for next season’s greeting cards.” “I love the roses, Vicky.” Her mother had not said anything else, but it was obvious that she’d used Vicky’s idea for the set design of this pseudo-wedding. Pushing down all of her “if-only” thoughts, she took a deep breath and continued toward the stage. The bridesmaids who’d already appeared on the runway were lined up on either side and she saw the actor who was playing the minister smiling at her. As she reached the stage, she turned toward the groom. It wasn’t Nick! “Don’t faint on us now, Vicky darling!” Kirk told her softly as he stepped forward and took her hand. “I hope you don’t mind me stepping in for Nick.”
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Vicky felt her heart in her throat. This was better than pretending with Nick. And tonight, when she played her pretend game at the reception, Kirk was definitely the right groom. So in a way, everything was working out just fine, wasn’t it? “I know just what do, honey. I watched the rehearsal, and I’m sure I can get the lines right. All you have to say is ‘I do’ and marry me.” When Kirk winked Vicky had to smile. He was the man who reawakened her heart and deluged her with so many presents this last week she was starting to believe in hearts and flowers. Even though he had not yet mentioned an “ever after” for them, she could feel the little ray of hope starting to glow more brightly inside of her soul. “Dearly beloved—” Vicky turned her attention to the so-called minister and tried to pay attention. Kirk’s voice sounded so sure and steady when he said his part. “I take you, Victoria Lynne Vale, for my lawfully wedded wife.” Then he slipped a ring on her finger and she was amazed at her mother’s planning and attention to details. Of course it was little things like this that had made her one of the most popular designers for wedding gowns in the country. “Repeat after me, Victoria,” the minister intoned in his deep, very serious sounding voice. “I take you, Kirk Victor Magnuson, to be my lawfully—” Her voice cracked and she had to clear her it before she could go on. Her nervousness was so obvious, she thought to herself, you’d think this was the real thing, for gosh sakes! “My lawfully wedded husband.” Somehow she got through the rest of it. The minister was announcing the final lines when she caught sight of her mother standing in the wings with Mark’s arm around her shoulders. It was obvious that her mother was crying, and right before Kirk kissed her she had the eeriest feeling that this was real. Kirk’s kiss took her mind off her concerns. After his lips left hers, things got very hectic. Her mother took her walk down the runway after all the models had come back out to accept the congratulations of the crowd. One of the models gave her a huge bouquet of pink roses and then the after-show soiree began in the large room next door. Many of the models were to wear the clothing and continue to circulate through the crowd, which included many interested future brides as well as the trade journalists and photographers.
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Chapter Twelve Vicky gave her ticket to the steward. “Oh yes, Ms. Vale. Your ticket has been upgraded. You are in one of our nicest cabins. Go down to the next car. You’re in cabin C.” Vicky was too tired to argue. If they figured out their mistake and kicked her out, she’d leave. There was a different train steward for this car, and he immediately relieved her of her bag and escorted her to the cabin. Opening the door, the steward began showing her around the small, but cleverly designed space. “The dining car is open until midnight, but dinner has been ordered for you in your cabin. It will be delivered about thirty minutes after we depart. Here’s your key. My name is Howard and let me know if you need anything.” “Thank you,” Vicky told him, handing him a tip as he left. She felt kind of silly actually. Her mother had insisted that she wear a traditional new-bride traveling suit, as well as accepting two new pieces of luggage. “I insist on this little gift, darling.” Valentina had hugged her daughter fiercely as Vicky left her outside the train station. “I got Denise to help me and we transferred your clothes. Mark is paying the porter to have your bags taken to the train.” “Thank you, Mom. I’ll call when I get back to my apartment.” Vicky brushed the tears off her cheeks. She looked around, but there was still no sign of Kirk. The party had run long, so her mother had canceled their dinner plans. She kept trying to find Kirk, but it seemed as the floor had swallowed him whole! Before she could say anything else, Mark was there, saying goodbye as well. “As soon as Val wraps this season up, we are taking a cruise. We’ll fly out to see you before we leave,” Mark told her with a smile. “Great! I’ll look forward to it.” Vicky plopped down onto the sofa that would turn into a bed when she rang for the steward. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Soon the tears she’d managed to hold at bay began streaming down her cheeks. At the reception, still dressed as a bride, Vicky had done her part of wandering around and so forth. Lots of people commented on how lovely the dress was and how excited they were with the line and the changes they’d seen so far. Just relieved to be done with the runway, she had lost track of time. Kirk had appeared at her side and said he wanted to talk with her. Vicky went with him eagerly. She was sure that he was going to ask her to stay here, with him. When he spoke, she was more than surprised. “My father said he and Val would be taking you to the train station. I guess since you are still leaving, we should say our goodbyes now.”
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Vicky had felt her stomach sink to the floor. Kirk was letting her leave. He was acting as if they were friends, not lovers who’d spent every day together for almost two weeks. Knowing that she had to speak, she had forced some words out. “All right. I…uhm, I guess so.” Silence had followed her words and she knew that technically he’d said goodbye, so it was her turn to say hers. But there was no way she could say it. Every part of her had been screaming to shout, “I love you” and instead, she had to say so long, see you, and it’s been great fun. This wasn’t right. Swallowing hard, she had forced her next words past her constricted throat. “I’ll send for the dog.” The instant the words were out she saw the slight flare of surprise cross his face. For a moment she had considered that he had waited for her to change her mind and tell him that she’d decided to stay. But she had not done it. Instead she muttered goodbye and then ran away. Now, sitting alone, she knew that she’d been a coward when it mattered most. All she had to do was tell him…what? Her logical side interrupted. What could she have said? I love you, Kirk, marry me? Or maybe something along the lines of “it was great shacking up, so let’s keep it up.” Beneath her she felt the train begin moving. She knew that it was too late now. The time had slipped through her fingers. If she decided to move back home, her mother would insist she live with them. Sharing an apartment was okay as a temporary measure, but Vicky knew that her mother would definitely frown on her daughter living with a man and not even be engaged to him. Damn! She kicked her shoes off and decided to get ready for bed. The steward wouldn't be back with dinner for at least ten minutes or so, and once she finished eating, hopefully she could go straight to sleep. She was certainly tired enough. Lifting one of the suitcases, she opened it. Placed on top of the other clothing she saw something wrapped in tissue paper. Peeling the thin paper aside, she saw the beautiful negligee set that she’d modeled in the show. It was the palest of pink satin and lace, shimmering like iridescent pearl. Knowing the price it would be sold for, she hesitated putting it on again. But then common sense and tiredness won. The knock on her door came just as she was closing the suitcase. “Come in!” Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at the steward. “I’m not sure where things go, so I will let you do what you need to do and I’ll step into this miniscule bathroom to be out of your way.” She had to close the door, so she listened to the sounds of things being moved and clicked. A few minutes passed and then she heard the steward call that he was done. Before she could come back out the cabin door had been closed and the lights turned out. Frustrated, she tried to remember where the lights were. Being conservative, she’d switched the bathroom light off before she’d realized the cabin was dark. “Damn! Good thing he left before I tipped him. Now where the devil is that light switch?” Vicky took a step forward. “Great! Just great. I’ll trip over something, break a part of me that could be important and then live through the disgrace of having to re-tell the story.” She froze a second later as she heard a noise coming from where the bed should be. Her heart raced for a moment or two, and then she reminded herself that she was alone. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered softly, taking another step.
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Light flared suddenly and she spun on one foot. She realized that she had been completely turned around. Blinking her eyes to adapt to the glowing brightness, she saw the candle on the tray of food. Gasping she retreated a step. “Don’t be afraid, Vicky. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The light clicked on and Kirk was stretched out on her bed. “What are you doing here?” Vicky pressed her hand to her chest, as if the pressure could slow her madly racing heart. Kirk sat up on the edge of the bed. Leaning over, he blew out the candle. “It doesn’t look like my surprise is going too well, does it?” As he straightened up, his eyes moved over her body. “You look more beautiful in that nightgown than you did earlier.” Vicky shook her head. Obviously their earlier goodbye had not been the real one Kirk had planned. “It’s a negligee, and I can’t be more beautiful because I don’t have any makeup on this time.” Kirk came to his feet, shaking his head in disagreement. “I like you better without makeup. Your lips are much sweeter when they aren’t disguised by lipstick.” “With that viewpoint, the makeup industry would be out of business. But that doesn’t explain why you are here, or how you said goodbye earlier.” Kirk nodded his head. “True. I have no good excuses except that suddenly I was tonguetied. How could I say farewell when I had no intention of letting you go?” Vicky put her hands on her hips. “But you did let me go.” She stamped her foot to emphasize her point. “You are on the train, sweetheart, that’s all. I’m here with you.” “Yes, but I am on my way home,” Vicky protested, and even to her ears, her voice sounded weak. “I’m going with you to help you pack your stuff up and return back here.” “That sounds awfully high-handed,” she pointed out. Then her stomach rumbled. “I need to eat.” Kirk stepped aside and gestured to the bed. “Have a seat and I’ll get changed as well while you start eating.” Vicky considered protesting but decided it was useless. Kirk was here, and that was precisely where she wanted him to be. His intentions could be sorted out later. She sat on the bed, eyeing the tray of food. “Don’t wait for me, Vicky.” Kirk picked up her other suitcase. He just grinned when he saw Vicky’s glance. Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “They were in on this with me.” Vicky picked up the small cherry tomato from the salad she uncovered. This was almost too much to take in, she thought, eating the red fruit in one bite. Her mother had known about them, but for how long? Shaking her head in disbelief, she noticed for the first time the wine that had been poured. Picking up one glass, she drank it. “Slow down, honey! Or at least, wait for me.” Kirk had come out of the bathroom, wearing a beautiful silky robe. She could see his bare chest, and taking a deep breath, she let her attraction for him sweep through her. Her feelings for him had not changed, that much was sure.
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“Good timing then,” Vicky told him with a defiant toss of her head. She wasn’t giving in without some explanations, and maybe an apology. “I was going to drink yours as well.” “You could, darling. We still have the champagne to enjoy.” Kirk gestured toward the door, where an ice bucket contained a bottle. “Are we celebrating something?” Vicky asked while she began lifting the lids off the different foods. “This smells great!” Kirk sat beside her on the bed and accepted the plate she passed him a few seconds later. “Eat first, talk later?” Vicky shook her head, chewing a bite of the delicious roast beef. “Taste that,” she said even as she filled her fork with the whipped potatoes. “Yes, it’s very good. But you haven’t said if you agree or not.” Vicky nodded, reaching for the small silver gravy boat. She added more to her plate and then offered to pour for Kirk. He accepted, but prodded her again for an answer. “Well?” Vicky gestured that her mouth was full and she kept it that way until her plate was empty. Setting it down, she patted her stomach. “Whew! I’m full. Is there dessert?” Kirk moved quickly. In less than five seconds, Vicky was lying on her back and he was next to her. Hampered by the long negligee and robe, she didn’t resist. She mollified her conscience by reminding herself that she didn’t want to harm the delicate fabric. “Dessert comes later.” Vicky fought the smile that wanted to curve her lips at Kirk’s irritated tone. “What about some champagne?” “Answer me first.” “You didn’t ask a question,” Vicky pointed out with a patient tone. “Yes I did. I asked you to move back to New York.” Vicky looked at his face. She could argue about it, or even make him explain it to her. But she saw in his eyes the look she’d seen on his father’s face when he gazed at her mother. He had not told her that he loved her, or was in love with her, but as long as he continued to look at her that same way, she’d be happy. “Okay,” she whispered softly. Immediately, she knew that she had shocked him by the changed look on his face. Lifting her hand, she curved it to the side of his face and caressed him gently. “It wouldn't be fair to Chanel to move across the country.” “Chanel! You can’t call a male dog that! He won’t be able to hold his head up in the park. All the other guys will make fun of him,” Kirk protested, frowning. She knew his focus on the puppy would diminish in a bit and they would discuss the finer points about moving and so on. She shifted her fingers to lightly caress over his lips. “That’s silly, and besides, he’s my dog.” “He needs a good ‘dog’ name,” Kirk told her, seemingly unaware of her hand moving slowly down the side of his neck and onto his chest. “Spot, Rover or even something like Charlie.” Vicky used both hands to push Kirk’s robe back off his shoulders. “I think we’ll have to get another puppy. A girl for me. They’ll be company for each other. That way when you take Spike, or whatever his name may be, for a walk, I’ll have my little Coco with me.” 188
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Kirk grinned and shrugged his robed off. His hand moved from her waist upward to cup her breast. He squeezed when her back arched and pressed more fully into his grasp. “I like that idea. I can just see us walking the dogs with our pooper scoopers.” “Do you think our parents will babysit?” Vicky sighed as Kirk’s fingers began to caress and tease her nipple. “I’m sure they’ll jump at the opportunity. Especially since we won’t be asking my dad to walk a male dog he has to call Chanel.” “You don’t think he’d be willing to do that out of love for his son?” Kirk pressed the softest of kisses to her lips. “Maybe, but I know for sure he’d do it because he loves his stepdaughter, and soon to be daughter-in-law.” Vicky felt her heart catch, as did her breath, at his words. She could barely breathe. Daughter-in-law? “You want to get married.” “Of course I want to marry you, only this time for real. I love you.” Vicky flung her arms around his neck, hugging him close. She told herself to slow down— Kirk pulled her arms down and then reached into the pocket of his robe. Giving the object a shake, he held the small paper bag up to Vicky’s face. He grinned at her as she took it, continuing to breathe in and out. “Thanks,” she told him, which sounded muffled inside the sack. “I love…you…too!” “Val packed me a handful.” “Not…very…romantic!” Kirk shook his head and sat up slowly. “I wouldn't say that, honey. Besides, I at least had you in the right position.” “How long…do we have?” Vicky asked surprised at how quickly it was going away. “We have all night and the next couple of days—” Vicky lowered the bag. “That’s not what I meant. I was wondering when you have to be back to work.” Kirk pushed the bag back up to cover her mouth again. “Keep going. We have two weeks, but I’m sure my dad will happily help Val if we need a little more time.” Vicky continued to breathe in and out of the bag. Her voice was slightly muffled as she questioned him. “Who’s watching Chanel if you are here?” “Keep breathing, sweetheart. Denise and Dave have him until we get back.” Vicky nodded and then she tossed the bag aside. Smiling up at him, she used her eager fingers to untie his robe. “Now, why don’t you show me the other way you know to increase my respirations? No paper bags required.” Kirk obeyed Vicky, making sure that she was completely satisfied with his demonstration.
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About the author: Mlyn is a 47-year-old woman living in Indiana, USA. She worked as a Registered Nurse for 23 years in Pediatrics. Reading Barbara Cartland and Harlequin romance novels in high school spurred her to start writing. She did technical writing for her employers until she started writing erotica four years ago. She began her own website for people to view her stories. Mlyn is single and lives with her cranky cat Georgia, who she named after her favorite artist for inspiration, Georgia O’Keeffe. Mlyn welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Also by Mlyn Hurn: Blood Dreams Burning Desires Elemental Desires Family and Promises Family Secrets His Dance Lessons Medieval Mischief Rebel Slave Submissive Passion Things That Go Bump In The Night 3
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